


Call Me Over to the Other Side

by kearlyn



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Raleigh's missing years, allusions to non-con (implied)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-05
Updated: 2013-12-05
Packaged: 2018-01-03 12:47:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kearlyn/pseuds/kearlyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Former Ranger Raleigh Becket has spent the two-and-half years since the Knifehead disaster working undercover for the FBI to investigate Kaiju-worshipping cults and anti-Jaeger terror groups. His skills are put to the test when the group he’s investigating kidnaps Chuck Hansen, intending to sacrifice the 17-year-old pilot to a Kaiju.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Faces in the Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Pacific Rim doesn’t belong to me. Neither do its plot, characters, setting, etc. etc. etc. I wish they did. But since they don’t, I’m only borrowing them from their toybox. I promise to return them in the same shape I got them in (mostly).
> 
> Notes: Completed as part of the 2013 Pacific Rim Big Bang, with beautiful art from scarimonious. (Seriously. It’s gorgeous. I was blessed to have her choose my piece.) This fic was inspired by various prompts on the Pacific Rim Kink Meme about Kaiju worshipping cults and my fascination with Raleigh’s years away from the program.
> 
> Warnings: violence, violence against a minor, religious zealotry, human sacrifice, language

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

###  **FACES IN THE BLUE**

_An investigative report into the members of the Songs of Blue cult_

__

_Art by scarimonious_

_Murals dedicated to the worship of Kaiju have appeared with frequency since humanity's first encounter with Trespasser in 2013._

by Sarah Tepper

INVESTIGATIVE REPORTER

Who are the men and women who worship the Kaiju? Why would any sane person want to worship beings that seem bent on the destruction of humanity?

These are the questions — angry, confused, dumb-founded questions — asked by many about these insular groups.

People have a hard time understanding them.

Today, we seek to break that silence, giving you an eye into the mysterious world of those who worship the Kaiju.

Since the arrival of the first Kaiju, Trespasser, in 2013, cults and worship groups dedicated to the Kaiju have sprung up around the world.

In the United States alone, there are over two dozen different groups and government officials estimate these groups can have an overall membership of upwards of 10,000 people.

Most of the American groups are affiliated with or subsidiaries of the Song of the Blue cult, a notorious but insular community originating in Nevada. The group is headed by a man known only by the moniker he shares with his followers: the Shepherd.

Little is known about this elusive leader and most of his followers keep to themselves.

We were lucky enough, however, to get someof them to agree to tell us about themselves and their reasons for joining one of these cults.

“John”, a member of the Brothers and Sisters of the Kaiju, an off-shoot of the Songs of Blue, spoke anonymously about his reasons for joining the cult:

“I was there,” he said, “in San Francisco. When Trespasser came. I saw that fucker tear apart anything that came near it. I saw them take six days and three nukes to bring it down. And when the next one hit Cabo, I thought, fuck it, we’re all going to die. These things are going to kill us. And if they don’t kill us, they’re going to enslave us. There’s no way we can win against these things. So I decided that I wanted to be on the winning side of the war.”

Many cultists are like John: ordinary people who see no hope in the war with the Kaiju and just want to survive the conflict, believing that the Kaiju are going to win.

Others are less practical and more spiritual in their reasons for joining the cults.

Jeannie Markum is one such individual. Unlike many we spoke to, Jeannie is perfectly happy to let us use her real name and share her story without the protection of anonymity.

I asked her why. She seemed surprised by the question.

“How can I show the world the truth of my actions, the rightness of what I do, if I’m not willing to bare all. How could they trust me, if I can’t even give the name I was born with?” she tells me.

Jeannie Markum is not what anyone would expect when they think of a cultist from a Kaiju worshipping cult. She is small, neat and comely, a cookie-loving mother of three who lived a quiet life as a housewife to a banker husband before leaving him to bring herself and her children to the Songs of Blue cult.

It’s only when you begin talking to her that you realize the fervency of her devotion to her cause.

“The Kaiju aren’t a menace,” she tells me while watering a row of vegetables. “They are a gift from God.”

Like many who join these cults, Jeannie believes the Kaiju were sent by God to test mankind, to destroy the unworthy, and to bring about paradise on Earth.

This kind of doomsday rhetoric has been around for much longer than the Kaiju. But where doomsday preachers and Kaiju-worshipping cultists differ is their reaction to the force that seeks to destroy their existence. Kaiju worshipping cults dedicate themselves to the Kaiju, praising their existence, and in some cases working to support them.

Perhaps the most famous of those who worship the Kaiju is former PPDC Ranger Raleigh Becket. Becket, the 24-year-old former co-pilot (with older brother Yancy Becket) of the Jaeger Gipsy Danger, made a splash two years ago when it was revealed that he’d joined the Brothers and Sisters of the Kaiju cult after leaving the PPDC.

“It’s a damn disgrace,” said one current pilot. “Becket used to help us save people. Now he’s thrown in with the things wanting to destroy us. Just goes to show how much you know about a person.”

This is a sentiment shared by many who see the motives of the Kaiju-worshipping cults as incomprehensible.

But that is not the public’s only concern.

Of great concern to both the public and the government are the steps these cults might take in pursuit of their agendas.

The last several years has seen a rise in terrorist attacks, particularly against the PPDC and the Jaeger Program. Though many of the attacks have been successfully averted, few arrests have been made. The PPDC, FBI, and Homeland Security attribute the attacks to Kaiju-worshipping cults such as Songs of Blue. And with the Wall of Life program beginning major construction, officials are worried that an attack from one of the cults will occur soon.

The motives of the men and women who chose to dedicate themselves to worship of the species that is exterminating mankind may never be understood by the rest of us. And in the face of this great divide, we can expect to see further conflict between the cults and the rest of the world who can’t understand why anyone would want to worship the destroyers of humanity. _  
_


	2. Setting the Board

* * *

 

It was supposed to be easy: serve a warrant, poke around, drop a bug for his undercover, get out. Instead, FBI Special Agent Patrick Boyer is cursing the stupidity and gung-ho attitudes of the local police department while taking cover from gunfire behind a brick wall.

Someone — he doesn’t know who yet, but he will find out — had ignored the orders and brazenly antagonized the compound leaders and then started a gunfight with them.

And now the entire task force is hunkered down behind buildings and walls, shooting it out with some well-armed Kaiju-worshipping cultists. Cultists who are _only_ well-armed because they’ve stolen weapons from officers they’ve incapacitated with well-thrown bricks and well-aimed planks of wood.

This is _not_ how Patrick wanted his day to go.

Hearing a brief lull in the gunfire, Patrick pops his head over his makeshift shield to see what’s going on. The taskforce is splayed out to his left and right, hunkered down behind cars, low walls, trees, anything they can find for cover. About a hundred feet of dust and dry scrub separate them from the cluster of buildings where the cultists are hiding out.

The initial exchange of gunfire seems to have passed, with both sides settling into an uneasy détente as they try to figure out what to do.

A clatter of noise draws his attention back to his immediate surroundings and he sees Deputy Harvey scrambling to join him behind the wall. His lip curls in disgust and he barely refrains from punching the man who got them into this clusterfuck in the first place.

“Looks like we got ‘em on the run,” the deputy says smugly, puffing out his chest. “A little more of this and they’ll be tripping over themselves to surrender to us.”

Patrick is struck momentarily speechless by the sheer idiocy of this man, so he doesn’t react quickly enough to stop the deputy from putting the microphone to his lips and bellowing towards the house.

“We have you surrounded, you bastards! Come out like the dogs you are or we’ll come in!”

Patrick goggles at the deputy and barely resists the urge to face palm right then and there.

Then, of course, his anger kicks in.

He wrestles the microphone out of the deputy’s hand and clocks him over the head to remove his stupidity from the equation. But it’s already too late. Men and women are popping up all over the compound, rushing the buildings and shouting.

Patrick sighs, resigns himself to a shitty day, and wades in to help.

When the shooting and the explosions and the mayhem have finally resolved — and Patrick is taking a break from yelling at the incompetent deputy who ordered the locals to start firing — Patrick pauses to take stock of the situation.

It’s pretty much an epic clusterfuck, he thinks. They haven’t accomplished any of their goals and the idiocity of the local yahoos may have actually derailed two years of hard work.

His sense of foreboding and building anger is ignited when, hearing some of the locals catcalling each other, he turns to see paramedics carrying a man out on a stretcher. He jogs over to the stretcher, praying that the idiots haven’t got one of his people or Homeland Security’s people shot. He wouldn’t mind a Kaiju-worshipping cultist getting shot — though it would disrupt the opp quite a bit and the paperwork would be unfortunate.

Then he gets a look at the man in the stretcher.

It’s much worse than what he thought and everything he feared.

He’d know that face anywhere. Even pale, limp, and splattered with blood, former PPDC Ranger Raleigh Becket’s face is immediately recognizable to anyone who hasn’t spent the last decade living under a rock. The unconscious man is wearing a blood-stained t-shirt and the tattered remains of his plaid over-shirt are being used as a crude bandage to stop the bleeding from his shoulder.

At least, Patrick hopes it’s just the shoulder. The bloodstain is worryingly large. It could be the heart. Patrick prays that it’s not the heart.

“What the hell happened?” he demands, bearing down on the laughing locals.

Two of the three men assume the look of startled deer caught in headlights, reading the obvious danger in Patrick’s expression. The third apparently has no sense of self-preservation because he puffs up and raises his nose to Patrick. His nameplate says Burton and there’s a shiny deputy’s badge on his chest.

“What’s it to you, mister special agent sir?” he says, in an exaggerated southern drawl. He glances to the side and smirks at his friends, but they both look like they’d rather sink into the ground.

“Well,” Patrick drawls back, “I’d just like to know what I have to put in my formal report to explain how some back country yahoo sent an unarmed man to the hospital. You know, when his lawyer sues for wrongful injury.”

Burton’s expression turns ugly. “You don’t know he was unarmed,” he says. “He might of pulled a weapon on me.”

Patrick raises an eyebrow. “Did he?” he asks.

Burton’s face goes ruddy. He opens his mouth to speak, but Patrick barrels right over him.

“He didn’t,” he says, “because he was unarmed. I know that because the entire compound was unarmed. Which is why this was meant to be a peaceful warrant-serving, not a raid.”

“You know don’t these people weren’t armed,” Burton says hotly. “This is a compound of fucking Kaiju worshippers. I bet they’re armed to the teeth. They were shooting back at us just fine.”

Patrick stares at him and one of the other officers coughs sheepishly. Burton looks to the other officer, who grimaces as says, “Actually, they haven’t found any weapons on the property. Except for ours.”

Burton’s face twists and he turns back to face Patrick’s triumphant smile.

“Look,” Burton says, “I don’t care whether that man was armed or unarmed. That’s fucking Raleigh Becket. Fucking traitor deserves to get shot for consorting with these fucking terrorists.”

Patrick grimaces. He wants to tell these idiots that they have no idea what’s going on, but he has an operation to manage and an agent’s cover to protect. Educating these idiots isn’t worth flushing two years of work down the drain.

He gestures to one of his team, hovering a few feet away.

“Langer, get this officer’s statement and confiscate his weapon,” he tells the other agent. Burton squawks, but he talks over the sputtering deputy. “We need to get this squared away before the Shepherd and his pack of lawyers get wind of it.”

Langer nods. “I’ll handle it,” he says, cool and confident. It’s one of things Patrick likes about having him on his team. He watches Langer usher Burton and his friends away, then turns back to see the paramedics load Becket into the ambulance and slam the doors.

“Well, fuck,” he says, as the ambulance screams away down the dusty road, carrying his potentially critically injured undercover agent to the hospital 40 miles away.

 

* * *

 

 

 

> **TO:** FBI Director Richard Brown
> 
> **FROM:** Supervisory Special Agent Patrick Boyer, Head of Operation Takedown
> 
> **DATE:** August 17, 2022
> 
> **SUBJECT:** Aftermath of Karen’s Ridge Operation
> 
>  
> 
> I’ve filed my official report on that disaster, but I need to make one thing clear: I will not be accommodating local or uninformed personnel on my operation. Ever. Again.
> 
> The local yahoos almost got my best agent — and our _only_ successful undercover operative — killed. Because they got trigger happy. Then shot him. This is why I have consistently recommended _against_ bringing uninformed locals in on these operations. Next time, I’m going to shoot the locals and damn the consequences.
> 
> This operation wouldn’t have gotten anywhere without Raleigh Becket. We had no success before we brought him on board, and since he joined us, he’s still the only undercover operative who’s been successfully able to get far enough into the Songs of Blue to get us the information we need. We were damned lucky to get Becket in the first place and this entire operation could fall apart without him.
> 
> We need him.
> 
> Which means I need enough control of _my_ operation to keep him from getting killed. Whether that means denying access to locals or approving Becket’s unconventional methods of getting the job done. Whatever it takes.
> 
> To put it bluntly: Stop butting in before you get my people killed and this operation fails.

 

 

* * *

 

Three days after a six hour surgery to fix bullet wound in his shoulder, former PPDC Ranger Raleigh Becket wakes up to see a man in a fitted black pantsuit sitting next to his hospital bed, watching him intently. His dark hair falls in soft curls across his forehead. It makes him look soft. Well, softer.

Raleigh knows better. He can see the intelligence, the strength, the not-taking-any-of-your-bullshit attitude in the man’s dark eyes.

“Isn’t it dangerous for you to be here?” he asks, voice hoarse and throat dry.

FBI Agent Patrick Boyer smirks and says nothing, but does lean forward to raise a glass of lukewarm water to Raleigh’s mouth. Raleigh drinks gratefully.

“I’m serious,” he says when Patrick puts the glass on the bedside table and leans back in his chair. “Won’t it kind of ruin my cover as a government-hating, Kaiju-worshipping asshole if anyone sees me being fussed over by the FBI agent in charge of the taskforce working to bring down the Kaiju-worshipping cults?”

Patrick snorts. “It’s fine Raleigh,” he says.

“Patrick—“

“It’s _fine_.”

Raleigh raises his eyebrows and stares at the man expectantly.

The man smiles. “I have agents watching the floor and the entry to the hospital,” he says, “and if anyone actually comes in, all they need to know is that I’m an FBI agent interviewing a suspected Songs of Blue member who was shot in a bungled law enforcement incident.” He pauses and raises and eyebrow. “It might actually improve your reputation in the cult,” he says.

Raleigh has to admit that’s probably true. And that Patrick is adept at spinning a good tale. He’s the one that did most of the work on Raleigh’s cover.

“Alright,” he says, then, after a pause, concerned, “Do I need my reputation improved?”

Patrick shakes his head. “Not in the slightest,” he says. “You stepped in front of a bullet meant for the group leader. Chatter says they’re considering bringing you in to meet the Shepherd himself.”

“Are you serious?” Raleigh says incredulously, bolting upright. Then remembers that that’s probably a really bad idea when pain flares through his shoulder.

Patrick lunges forward and helps him settle back against the pillow, panting.

“Morphine?” he asks, gesturing to the button lying by Raleigh’s hand.

Raleigh shakes his head wordlessly. He’d actually love some morphine right about now — it feels like someone has jammed an ice pick through his shoulder and started to twist — but he’d had problems with painkillers since Knifehead and Yancy and he doesn’t want to go down that road again.

Patrick accepts his refusal and settles back in the chair.

“How are you doing?” he asks, sounding genuinely concerned. Raleigh likes that about him; he knows Patrick cares about him because the man makes no effort to hide his affection for Raleigh. But he’s always made it equally clear that the job comes first. Raleigh likes knowing where he stands and despite his bad experience with the end of his PPDC career, he fully supports putting the needs of the job ahead of the needs of the people.

“I’m… okay,” he says finally. “Hurts like hell, but the doctors say I should make a full recovery.”

“Good,” Patrick says, nodding sharply. “Now… tell me what the fuck happened out there and how the hell it ended up with you getting shot.”

Raleigh groans and makes a face, but talks.

 

* * *

 

 

 

> **Federal Bureau of Investigation**
> 
> **Agent Psychological Assessment**
> 
> **Subject:** Raleigh Becket, Special Agent
> 
> **Date of Birth:** December 11, 1998
> 
>  
> 
> **Status:** field agent, undercover
> 
> **Current Assignment:** assigned to Operation Takedown, undercover infiltration of Kaiju-worshipping cult Songs of Blue and its affiliates
> 
>  
> 
> **Reason for Assessment:** recent injury suffered during incident at Karen’s Ridge
> 
>  
> 
> **Assessment Notes:**
> 
> Due to a recent injury (bullet wound, friendly fire) during the Karen Ridge Incident (see full report: FC-144090073), Becket was temporarily removed from direct field operations to recover. During this period he had less intense contact with his targets (see Songs of Blue cult briefing) and was able to have carefully arranged contact with FBI personnel.
> 
> Despite his injuries and their cause, Becket remains generally positive. He is completing physiotherapy without difficulty and preparing to return to field work. There are no warning signs or indicators that the injury or circumstances have caused psychological instability.
> 
> Becket remains unwilling to discuss his emotional state regarding his relationship with his previous employer, the Pan-Pacific Defense Corps, nor is he willing to discuss the impact of the repeated assaults against his character he has faced since his cover story was established. Becket is outwardly assuring that he is not affected. However, he bears a deep respect for the PPDC and the men and women that serve. Receiving only anger and derision from people he sees as family will continue to have a detrimental impact on Becket’s emotional state.
> 
> Becket also demonstrates potentially worrying dedication to completing his assignment without regard to his personal wellbeing. Past assignments (see Dermonger assassination attempt) have shown that Becket is willing to risk his own physical safety and life to see an assignment concluded successfully. While his dedication to the successful completion of his assignments is evidence that Becket has not become disheartened nor begun to identify with his targets, it does suggest that Becket may be willing to allow himself to be killed if he feels it suits the needs of the assignment.
> 
> Becket shows no signs of identifying with his targets. His personal convictions are as unwavering as they were during his initial assessment before Operation Takedown began.
> 
> **Recommendation:** Special Agent Becket is cleared for continued field duty, however observation and continued assessment are recommended. Becket is psychologically stable and coping effectively with his assignment. However, continued exposure to the stress of undercover work, particularly in playing a role so fundamentally opposed to his basic nature, and the emotional stress of his relationship with his former employers may result in future psychological strain. Immediate evaluation is required should Becket display any evidence of excessive stress or emotional strain.

 

 

* * *

 

With a great effort of will, Raleigh resists the urge to rub nervously at the bullet wound scar high on the left side of his chest. It’s a nervous habit he’s picked up in the months of rehab it took to get back into shape after getting shot in the chest during the clusterfuck of a last assignment.

Surprisingly, despite the disastrous results and him getting shot, the firefight had actually resulted in an opportunity they’ve been waiting for for two years.

Apparently, getting shot is all it takes to finally earn the tentative trust of one of the men behind the infamous, isolationist Songs of Blue cult. It’s been Raleigh’s goal for two years to get close enough to the leadership of the Songs of Blue to get them all arrested, but he’d been frustratingly low on luck and unable to get anywhere close to them because of their mistrust of anyone who wasn’t a well-established insider.

Which Raleigh seems to have become.

Raleigh sighs and drags his attention away from his thoughts and back to current events.

He’s about to try and infiltrate the Songs of Blue, and a distraction now would probably mean his death.

The car he’s riding in bumps gently to a stop at the gates of a walled compound. Raleigh’s driver reaches of the window to punch in the code to open the gate, then drives through, the gates swinging shut behind them.

Raleigh makes no effort to hide his scrutiny of their destination. The car swings down a long, unpaved driveway. Trees line the drive, tall with long trailing tendrils of leaves. Raleigh thinks they might be willow trees; he’s never seen them before since they’d never survive the Alaskan winter. _Yancy would know_ , he thinks, and shoves and shoves the thought aside. Now _is not_ the time to let himself be distracted.

At the end of the driveway, Raleigh can see a wide, two-story house with large windows and a wrap-around veranda. The house’s wooden exterior is painted white, and though the paint is peeling and faded, the house looks warm and friendly, rather than run-down.

It’s a pretty exterior, but Raleigh already knows that there’s ugliness hiding inside.

The car rolls to a halt in front of the big manor home, gravel crunching under the tires. There’s a quiet moment as they listen to the engine cool and tick.

Carl turns to Raleigh. “Are you ready for this?” he asks. Carl has been Raleigh’s contact for several months now, but Raleigh doesn’t know much about him. His mild, awkward exterior hides a fervent devotion that had earned him a place in the Songs of Blue, but he is remarkably close-mouthed about his personal life.

_No_ , Raleigh thinks, _I’m not sure if I’m ready for this_. He nods. “Yes, definitely,” he says.

They get out of the car together and Raleigh follows Carl up the creaking steps. The inside of the house is cool and lit primarily by the sunlight streaming in through the large windows. It’s a relief from the hot sun and late-summer heat outdoors. Raleigh takes a deep breath to savour the cool air and blinks to adjust his eyes to the darkened interior. Carl leads him through the house, heading towards the back.

As they pass the kitchen, a man steps out of the doorway. “Is this him?” he asks. An apron hangs from his thick neck, covering a muscular chest that strains at the seams of his worn plaid shirt. His hands are damp and Raleigh can see a sink full of suds and dishes behind him.

Carl nods.

The man sizes Raleigh up, making a slow deliberate visual sweep from head to toe. He smirks and raises an eyebrow. “Doesn’t look like much,” he says to Carl.

Inside, Raleigh bristles but outside he doesn’t so much as twitch. Long experience with bullies and big egos has taught him that he gets better results when he gives his antagonists the rope to hang themselves.

He doesn’t think it’ll take much with this one.

Sure enough, the mountain of a man seems disgruntled and off-put when he gets no reaction from Raleigh.

“Doesn’t seem like he’s worth the fuss,” the man snarls, shoulders tensing.

Carl shrugs, looking uncomfortable. Raleigh lets a lazy smile spread across his lips and gazes placidly at the man.

The man huffs out a breath and finally turns to go back into the kitchen.

Point to Raleigh.

Raleigh follows Carl through the building, through an open living room, through a living room furnished with what looks like antique furniture, towards a pair of double doors that lead onto an enclosed porch. Carl pauses there, one hand against the wood of the doors. He shoots Raleigh a conflicted look and seems about to say something, but visibly changes his mind. He pushes open the left door and gestures for Raleigh to follow him through.

The wooden porch is lit by the sun streaming through the open windows and a gentle breeze stirs the air. A grey-haired man is standing on the far side of the porch, one hand resting on the back of a broad wicker chair as he stares out over the wheat fields behind the house.

Carl cleared his throat. “Raleigh Becket is here, sir,” he says.

The man nods without turning. “Thank you Carl,” he says. His tone is a clear dismissal and Carl slinks silently back through the doors.

After a long moment of silence, the man turns to meet Raleigh face to face. He has a strong face, clean-shaven with greying hair and tanned skin. His age is hard to pin down. Somewhere in his 50s or 60s, Raleigh would guess. Older but not old. His blue eyes are sharp and shrewd.

Raleigh commits his face to memory. This man, he knows, is Taylor Mills, the elusive leader of the Songs of Blue. There are no pictures of him on file and sparse description. No government agent, officer, or asset has ever gotten this close to the man, and those cultists who have gotten close enough to see his face are too loyal to ever betray him. It’s a fluke that the FBI even has his name (and they’re not entirely certain that it’s his real one).

“Have a seat,” Mills says, settling in to one of the wicker chairs and gesturing for Raleigh to take another.

Raleigh sinks into the chair’s soft cushion. It’s a lot more comfortable than he was expecting and he has to fight to stay upright and not slump back.

Mills watches him with an enigmatic smile on his face. It’s almost enough to make Raleigh feel unnerved. The expression makes him feel like he’s facing down a Kaiju.

“You’re quite the interesting individual, Mr. Becket,” Mills says as Raleigh settles.

Raleigh shrugs. “I try not to be boring,” he says.

Mills’ smile widens. “Yes, I can see that,” he says. “You present quite a puzzle for me and mine.”

Raleigh stays quiet. He knows that Mills expects an answer, but he also knows that this is a power play, an invisible game of chicken. Raleigh isn’t going to be the one who breaks first.

Mills watches him placidly. The air is heavy with expectation, but Raleigh refuses to break first. Five years of PPDC media tours and two and half years of undercover work have strengthened Raleigh’s ability to stay calm under pressure, to wait for the other person — or creature — to make the first move.

After nearly a minute of silence, Mills acknowledges Raleigh’s victory with a slight smile and brief nod.

“I’ll admit,” he says, “that I had my doubts about you. A former PPDC Ranger. A Jaeger pilot. A _Kaiju killer_ ,” he spits the last words and for the first time, his placid expression twists into something ugly. “I found it quite hard to believe that someone like you would even be capable of admitting your sins, let alone truly committing to atone for them.”

Raleigh shrugs and lets an uncomfortable expression twist across his face.

Mills raises his eyebrows, a silent request for explanation.

This time, Raleigh doesn’t bother playing power games. He’s already made Mills see that he won’t back down. Now he needs Mills to see him as a follower, a brother-in-arms.

“I don’t know about sins and atonement,” Raleigh says slowly, choosing his words carefully. He has a story to spin here, but his act has to be perfect. It needs just enough truth to be real, just enough emotion to strike a chord. Too little or too much and Mills will see right through him.

“Not much for religion,” he continues, shrugging and shifting in his seat. It’s a risk. Mills is a devout religious man, a true believer in everything his cult espouses. Separating himself from that could really backfire on Raleigh. But Raleigh knows himself well enough to know that he could never pull off religious devotion. Better to take a risk than get busted for pretending to be something he’s not.

Sure enough, Mills raises an eyebrow and frowns at Raleigh’s declaration.

“Our family seems an odd choice for you then,” he says.

Raleigh shrugs. “I could tell you I’m a devote follower, atoning for my sins, if you want. But I don’t believe in pretending to be something I’m not. I’ve done enough of that in my life.”

Mills nods. “Then why are you here?” he asks.

“Because you and yours are the only ones who make any sense in this whole mess,” Raleigh says. “Do I believe the Kaiju are gods? No. Gods don’t die. Kaiju do. I have firsthand experience of that. So the Kaiju aren’t gods. But they’re definitely something _more_. What they are, where they come from? We don’t have a clue about that. Who’s to say there aren’t gods over there?”

He pauses and gathers his thoughts. “The Kaiju are part of something bigger, something we haven’t come close to understanding. No-one else seems to see that.” He pauses and looks up to meet Mills’ gaze. “But you do.”

Mills nods, seeming satisfied.

“And you want to know,” he says.

It’s not a question, but Raleigh answers anyway. “Yes,” he says. “I spent a long time not caring about it. Just throwing myself at the Kaiju and trying to fight out the anger. Deal with not understanding something by destroying it. And then Yancy…” He stops and draws in a deep breath. There’s not need to fake the sharp pain the memory of Yancy brings. He shrugs. “Well, I started wanting to understand instead of destroy.”

“And why not get that understanding with the PPDC?” Mills asks.

Raleigh snorts and raises an eyebrow. “You really think the PPDC cares about understanding the Kaiju?” he asks sarcastically.

“No,” Mills says, “I suppose not.” But there’s a strange smile on his face that suggests that he knows more than he’s letting on.

Raleigh files that expression away to puzzle over later, but doesn’t let it distract him.

“Besides,” he says, “the PPDC screwed me over. I don’t want anything to do with them,” he says vehemently.

The anger is real. Losing Yancy had been hard enough. He would have accepted blame for that. He knows that the Kaiju killed Yancy, but he also knows that if he’d been faster, better, less reckless, then maybe his brother would still be alive. He could have accepted blame for Yancy.

But getting sectioned and thrown out for disobeying orders to go after the fishing boat, getting thrown away for saving lives, losing the only family and the only home he had left, being betrayed by that family for doing his job…

That was a lot harder to bear.

It made summoning anger at his former employers a trivial matter. There’s no need to pretend when you really are furious.

Mills seems to believe it, even approve of the anger if his triumphant expression is any indication.

“I’ll admit,” he says, “I had my doubts about you, Even after the mess at Karen’s Ridge. But seeing you, speaking with you… I consider myself a good judge of character, Mr. Becket, and I believe you have found your place with our family.”

Raleigh smiles, “Please sir, call me Raleigh,” he says.

Mills smiles. “Raleigh. Then you must call me Taylor.”

Raleigh blinks in surprise and inclines his head. “It would be an honour sir,” he says.

Mills laughs and stands, gesturing for Raleigh to rise with him. “Come,” he says, “I have a great deal to show you and many people to introduce you to.”

 

* * *

 

The sun has begun its long slide towards the western horizon and the evening air has begun to cool when Mills draws Raleigh back inside the large country house. Raleigh has spent the day with the Songs of Blue Shepherd, walking the cult’s settlement, meeting its members, and learning how the organization is run. He’s learned enough in the past few hours to more than quadruple the size of the FBI’s admittedly slim file on the inner circle of the cult, something he’s sure Patrick will be pleased about.

He hasn’t seen anything illegal yet, or really anything even on the border of legal though. A calculated move on Mills’ part, he’s sure. He’s new to the organization, and no matter what Mills claims to trust him, it will probably be a long time before he learns anything the FBI can really use to bring these people down.

They’ve just entered the house when a woman comes up to them and asks to speak with Mills privately. Her name is Sarah, Raleigh thinks. He’s met so many people today that keeping the names straight is difficult, but he remembers her because she was one of the few that wasn’t introduced with a job title. He’d guessed then that whatever she did was part of the Songs of Blue’s more militant operations, and her stern, serious face makes him believe it even more now.

Raleigh steps back onto the veranda, just out of earshot, but stays close enough to observe the pair. Sarah speaks urgently, gesturing with her hands in short, clipped motions. Mills has his head inclined, listening to her intently. He’s frowning, but his eyes are triumphant. Sarah too looks excited. It sends a shiver down Raleigh’s spine. He doesn’t know what they’re talking about but it can’t be anything good.

Mills comes back out onto the veranda and few minutes later. He’s trying to look calm, but his eyes are alight and Raleigh can see that he’s vibrating with barely restrained energy.

“Well Mr. Becket,” he says, “I had thought we’d have a few more weeks before the reason that you were brought here became necessary, but it seems we’re going to have to put you to work right away.”

“Put me to work?” Raleigh asks cautiously.

Mills grins. “Come with me,” he says, “and I’ll show you.”

He gestures Raleigh after him into the house and heads for the one door that hadn’t been included on the earlier tour: the narrow door under the stairs that leads to the basement. The stairs are cramped and creaky but well lit. Raleigh expects to step out into the cult’s war-room or planning centre and there _is_ a long table pushed against one wall with tables spread papers spread across it.

What catches Raleigh’s attention though is the cage in the middle of the room. It’s barely long enough for a man to stretch out horizontally and not tall enough to make standing at full height comfortable. The steel bars are welded firmly together and a large padlock holds the small door shut. The bright, hanging lights on the ceiling throw harsh light over a human-shaped figure curled at the centre of the cage on a thin scattering of straw. From the shape, Raleigh can tell that it’s a man. He’s bare from the waist up, lean but muscled. In the harsh light, the bruises and cuts that decorate his torso are thrown into sharp relief. The sharp copper smell of blood is heavy in the air.

With effort, Raleigh swallows down the bile in the back of his throat and keeps his horror from showing in his expression.

At Mills’ sharp gesture he follows the older man across the room, circling around the cage to look down on the prisoner’s face. He’s just as beaten from the front — maybe more. His face is a mess of bruises and dark marks of fists and boots litter his chest and stomach. His right arm is curled protectively around his torso, and at first Raleigh thinks he’s protecting his ribs, but he shifts and Raleigh can see that his hand is black and blue and some of the fingers are twisted in unnatural directions.

And he’s young.

From the front it’s obvious that this man — if he’s even old enough to be called a man — is painfully young. Raleigh would guess that he’s no more than his early 20s, if that. He suspects it’s actually a lot younger.

“Not what you were expecting?” Mills’ voice asks from behind him.

Raleigh jumps a little, but forces his expression into neutrality.

“I honestly wasn’t sure what to expect,” he says.

Mills hmms but says nothing. Raleigh continues to stare at the boy in the cage. There’s something naggingly familiar about him, but the bruising at the blood have made his features hard to distinguish.

“Who is he?” Raleigh asks finally.

Mills laughs softy. “I would have expected you to recognize him,” he says “Still, I can see how that would be difficult in his… condition.”

Raleigh says nothing, pressing his fingertips into his thighs to keep from balling his hands into fists.

“His name is Chuck Hansen,” Mills says. “And he’s a—“

“Jaeger pilot,” Raleigh breathes.

He recognizes the kid now — recognized him the instant Mills said his name. Chuck Hansen, 17 years old and the youngest Jaeger pilot in the history of the program. He only has one kill on his record so far, but Raleigh had watched it on the news and it had been a pretty spectacular take-down. Very good for a first-time pilot.

It had prompted the Brothers and Sisters of the Kaiju to attempt to blow up the San Francisco Shatterdome. That had been an ugly mess, and preventing it remains one of Raleigh’s happiest memories of his undercover career, no matter how many bruises he’d gotten in the process.

“I hadn’t heard he was missing,” Raleigh says, forcing his voice to sound neutral, though inside he wants to scream. They’ve kidnapped a Jaeger pilot. They’ve kidnapped a kid. They’ve kidnapped a Jaeger pilot who is also a kid. _Shit._

The men and women in the room laugh softly.

“Yes, our beloved PPDC is keeping this very quiet. Wouldn’t want to cause a panic,” Mills says, sounding grimly amused.

That’s not a surprise, Raleigh thinks bitterly. The PPDC, or more accurately the United Nations Pan-Pacific Breach Working Group that oversees the PPDC, is more concerned sometimes with how the public perceives them. They won’t let that PR concern get in the way of killing Kaiju, but they will let it come before the best interests of their pilots. Raleigh should now. He has personal experience.

“What are you going to do with him?” Raleigh asks. He’s amazed at how calm and detached he sounds. Inside, his heart is pounding and he feels a little light-headed, unable to tear his eyes away from the bloodied teenager sprawled unconscious on the cement floor.

“We have plans,” Mills says. Raleigh tears his gaze from the teenager and forces himself to turn towards Mills. Mills is peering at him intently and Raleigh forces himself not to twitch. This, he realizes, is another test.

He raises an eyebrow. “Plans?” he asks, voice flat. It’s easier to be calm when the battered teenager is out of his line of sight

He evidently passes the test because Mills’ face softens and his eyes lose some of their suspicious edge.

Mills nods. “Yes” he says. “This killer,” he says, gesturing to the teenager. Raleigh glances back at him unconsciously and sees that the teenager is moving, stirring gently on the floor. “This killer will be our gift, our sacrifice to our Kaiju Gods.”

“Sacrifice?” Raleigh echoes, feeling horror stealing through his veins. They can’t mean to—

”Yes,” Mills breathes. His eyes are bright and there’s a faint flush to his cheeks. His breathing comes quick and sharp. “His blood, young, innocent, but tainted by his blasphemy, will be our gift to the gods. Proof of our devotion.”

Raleigh’s stomach twists and he feels bile in the back of his throat. This is _bad_ , he thinks. This is very bad. Worse than the worst case scenarios he and Patrick had been tossing around before he went under. He has no idea what to say, how to react in a way that won’t immediately make Mills suspicious.

And he absolutely can’t blow his cover now. Not when he’s probably the only thing standing between Chuck Hansen and messy death as a sacrifice to the Kaiju.

Fortunately, the dilemma is taken from him when Chuck groans.

“Wha’ d’you wan’ now?” he says, voice slurred. Raleigh remembers the blood on his face and guesses there’s a broken nose involved. “Mo’ new _devotees_ ta sho’ me off –“

He stops abruptly as Raleigh turns and their eyes meet. Chuck is on his feet and looks much less vulnerable when he’s awake, Raleigh thinks. The bruises are no less impressive nor horrifying, but the belligerent expression and fire in his eyes tells Raleigh that his sprit hasn’t been broken. Chuck Hansen is a fighter. That’s good to know.

When Chuck sees Raleigh, his expression twists into something ugly, angry and, for just a brief flash, hurt.

“Well,” he snarls, “Raleigh Becket. This is a new low. Even for you.”

He articulates much more clearly when he’s angry.

“Not from where I’m standing,” Raleigh shoots back.

Chuck snarls and pulls himself as far upright as he can in the cage’s confines. No trace of the pain he must be feeling shows on his face. His eyes are hard as he glares at Raleigh.

“So you really have turned traitor. Abandoned everyone who trusted you and joined these freaks,” Chuck says.

Interesting, Raleigh thinks, that Chuck focused on _people who trusted Raleigh_. Did Chuck trust Raleigh, once? Look up to him? There might be something there. Something he can use to get under Chuck’s skin, break the teenager the way Mills has clearly been trying and failing to do.

Raleigh wrenches his mind away from those thoughts. That’s _not him_.

But sometimes it’s hard to separate himself from the person he has to pretend to be to do this job.

He raises an eyebrow. “No,” he says quietly, calmly (because he knows that will irritate someone as wound up as Chuck seems to be). “I didn’t abandon anyone, because they’d already abandoned me first. And it was the best thing that ever happened to me, because it allowed me to see the truth.”

Chuck opens his mouth to fire another volley, but Mills steps smoothly into the conversation.

“I see that you’re much more talkative today than you usually are,” he says to Chuck. “It looks like all it took was the right… partner.”

Chuck flinches backwards as the others in the room laugh darkly. Raleigh wonders what they’ve done to the teenage pilot that would prompt that kind of reaction, then wonders if he really wants to know. He’s already going to have nightmares about this.

Mills claps a hand on Raleigh’s shoulder. “I’m glad to see you two getting along so well,” he says. Raleigh does he best not to stiffen.

“Raleigh,” Mills says, and pulls Raleigh around so they’re looking at each other, “you know how important our cause is. We have an opportunity here, with this traitor child—“ Chuck squawks at this, but Mills ignores him “—to cleanse his sin and demonstrate to our gods our faithfulness.”

He pauses, for drama Raleigh thinks and indeed the rest of the room’s occupants are hanging on to his every word.

“A Kaiju is coming,” Mills says.

Despite himself, Raleigh flinches. Mills must mistake his reaction for anticipation because he squeezes Raleigh’s shoulder and smiles at him. “A Kaiju is coming. Within the next two weeks.”

Raleigh stares. The Kaiju are always coming, this he knows, but he’s never known anyone that claimed to predict them.

Well, there was always someone who could predict them. Scam artists or con men or crackpots.

But Mills sounds so sure, so confident.

And despite the fact that Raleigh is beginning to _really_ see how fanatically crazy Mills is, Raleigh doesn’t think the man is a conman or crackpot. He wants to ask how Mills knows, but—

“How the hell could you know that?” Chuck asks the question for him. Belligerent, but Raleigh thinks he can hear a hint of fear under the teenager’s brashness.

Mills smiles, slow and paternal and condescending. Raleigh barely suppresses a shiver, conscious of the man’s hand, heavy on his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Chuck take a small, involuntary step backwards.

“A little voice told me,” he says. Chuck’s face twists and he scoffs, but his expression falls to horror as Mills continues. “A little voice in the PPDC’s new K-Science division, who tells me your lovely little group of blasphemers and murderers has found a way to predict the arrival of a Kaiju. And that one of our gods will be here within the next two weeks.”

Chuck looks as horrified as Raleigh feels.

Mills smirks, taking clear pleasure in the teenage pilot’s dismay.

“Yes,” he says, “your own people are providing the opportunity for your sacrifice.”

Chuck looks furious, but despite the strong face he is putting on, Raleigh can see the fear in his eyes. At Mills’ words, Chuck’s eyes flick judgingly to Raleigh, then away.

Mills catches the expression and laughs.

“You are wondering why Mr. Becket has joined us,” he says. He paces closer to the cage. “Mr. Becket has seen the light. He has been where you are and has seen his way to a better future. For us all. He will show you the way to that future, show you the way to repentance, so that you may go to your sacrifice with a clean heart. And soul.”

Chuck’s outraged response — “I won’t ever _repent_ for doing what needed to be done. And I’d rather kill Becket than speak with him.” – covers Raleigh’s sharply indrawn breath.

This is _good_ , he knows. An opportunity to be close enough to the action to intervene when — let’s not kid ourselves, it would be a _when_ with these people — intervention was required. But this was a lot bigger than anything he’d circumvented before and there was a lot more potential for things to go wrong. And Raleigh would be under a lot more scrutiny, here in the heart of the Songs of Blue.

This was probably going to be hardest thing he’d ever done. And he’d killed half-a-dozen Kaiju, so he knew what he was talking about.

“Sleep well, tonight, little Kaiju killer,” Mills purred. His voice sent shivers down Raleigh’s spine and he saw Chuck take another small step backwards. “Tomorrow, your repentance begins.”

 

* * *

 

Raleigh doesn’t know how it makes it home without anyone noticing that something is wrong with him. He feels lightheaded and has to curl his hands into fists to keep anyone from noticing the tremors.

This is _bad_ , he thinks. Very, very bad.

He manages to make it into his apartment, but he honestly doesn’t remember much of the trip from the compound to his kitchen table.

Finally alone, with a firm door behind him and a clean sweep for bugs, Raleigh allows himself to feel. He sits at the kitchen table, elbows braced on the table and hands curling in his hair and just breathes.

When he pulls himself together, he stands and makes his way into the kitchen to retrieve his agency-issued burner phone from its hiding place behind the fridge. Then, giving in to the urge to pace, he dials Patrick.

The phone only rings twice in Raleigh’s ear before Patrick picks up and Raleigh is talking before he even gets a chance to say hello.

“This is fucked,” Raleigh says, immediately.

He hears Patrick sigh.

_“Hello Raleigh. How are you? How did your first day go?”_ he says, sounding annoyed.

Raleigh blows out a frustrated breath. “I’m not kidding,” he says. “This is bad. Like, put together a raid and arrest them all now, bad.”

_“I know this is tough,”_ Patrick says, “ _but suck it up. We don’t have enough for an arrest warrant yet. You’ve only been there one day.”_

Raleigh growls as he paces across the apartment’s small living room.

“No, you don’t understand,” he says, “we have to move on these guys now. They’ve got Chuck Hansen locked up in that compound and they’re planning to sacrifice him to the next Kaiju that comes through the Breach… which they’re pretty is going to happen any day now. And why the fuck did no one tell me that someone had kidnapped a Ranger? I think this is something I should have known about —“

_“Raleigh,”_ Patrick says, his voice soft and serious, _“slow down. What are you talking about?”_

“Chuck Hansen,” Raleigh says, “youngest PPDC Ranger in history, co-pilot of Striker Eureka. Kidnapped — _which no-one told me about_ — and currently locked up in the dungeon of a Kaiju-worshipping cult. They say they’ve had him for _weeks_ and from his condition, I’d believe it.” He fills Patrick in on the rest of the conversation he’d had with the Shepherd.

When he’s done, there is silence on the other end of the line.

_“Shit,”_ Patrick finally says, _“Are you sure?”_

Raleigh doesn’t even bother answering and Patrick quickly realizes the stupidity of his question.

_“Of course you’re sure,”_ he says, rushing forward without waiting for Raleigh’s answer. _“Raleigh, the reason I didn’t tell you that Chuck Hansen had been kidnapped is because I honestly had no idea.”_

Raleigh raises an eyebrow.

_“Really?”_ he asks. He wants to be skeptical (because it’s pretty hard to miss a Jaeger pilot getting kidnapped, let alone the famous _youngest pilot in history_ , and he knows that Patrick is terrifyingly good at knowing everything all the time), but he trusts Patrick. The other man won’t jerk him around. “So the PPDC really is keeping this quiet then?”

_“It seems so,”_ Patrick says. Raleigh can hear the frustration and anger in his voice and winces reflexively. Heads are going to roll when Patrick figures out who wasn’t doing their job on gathering information.

“Patrick,” he says, “we have to do something. They’re going to kill him. We have to get him out of there. I know it might blow the case, but —“

_“Of course we’re going to do something,”_ Patrick interrupts. _“There’s no fucking way I’m letting anyone get sacrificed to Kaiju for the sake of a case. The kidnapping gives us probable cause, and even if we can’t get them for anything else, that’ll give us a couple years in prison for these guys.”_

Raleigh sags in relief. He was pretty sure that Patrick would agree with him, but he’s been burned before by superiors who don’t care about “collateral damage.”

“So… we’re going in?” he asks.

_“Yes,”_ Patrick says decisively. _“We have to. It might take a couple days to arrange though. I need you to go back in and stay in. Keep an eye on Hansen. I’ll need you there once the raid goes down. Knowing these guys, they won’t hesitate to use Hansen as a shield or a hostage. Or kill him just on principle. I need you to keep that from happening.”_

“Got it,” Raleigh says. He feels lighter, knowing that they’re going to _do_ something and that he’s not going to be asked to sit back and leave Chuck Hansen to his fate.

_“And Raleigh?”_ Patrick says. _“I’m officially authorizing you to break cover if it becomes necessary to protect Hansen.”_

“I was going to do that anyway,” Raleigh says.

_“I know,”_ Patrick says, and though he can’t see Patrick, he can hear the other man smirk over the line. _“That’s why I’m giving you official permission. It looks better on my paperwork.”_

Raleigh laughs and he and Patrick settle in to hammer out the details of the coming raid.

 

* * *

 

 

 

> While the general public typically lumps Kaiju-worshipping cults into a single collective, these groups actually form three distinct subtypes:
> 
>   1. **Kaiju are gods or emissaries of gods.** The first subtype believes that Kaiju are themselves gods or are the emissaries of gods who live in another dimension. Groups that fall into this subtype are typically fanatical in their devotion to the Kaiju.
>   2. **Kaiju are demons sent by God as punishment for man.** This second subtype is typically formed from highly conservative groups in existing religions. These groups believe that the Kaiju are servants of the devil-figure in their religion or that they have been sent as a punishment by God for mankind’s sins. Among this subtype, there are two common responses: (1) worship the Kaiju and (2) vehemently oppose the Kaiju as servants of the devil.
>   3. **Kaiju are aliens and worshipping them will save our lives.** The final subtype has less genuinely religious motivation than the first two. Groups that fall into this subtype are typically less structured and are composed of an eclectic membership whose primary concern is their own survival.
> 

> 
> There is no one subtype that is “more violent” than another. However the most violent cult on record — the infamous Songs of Blue — belongs to the first subtype. The Songs of Blue cult worships the Kaiju as gods and their worship is often driven to the point of fanatical violence including attacks on the Jaeger program.
> 
> \--excerpt from _Inside the Cults_ , by Dr. Lawrence Whittaker

 


	3. Pieces in Motion

* * *

 

 

Raleigh’s not laughing several hours later when the shrill ringing of a phone wakes him from dead slumber. He groans and rolls over to eyeball the clock. He groans again when the blinking numbers finally come into focus: 2:56 AM.

The phone keeps ringing, and Raleigh drags himself out of bed and across the room to answer it.

“’llo?” he slurs, once he finally figures out how to get the phone aligned to his face.

 _“Raleigh?”_ the voice at the other end asks. It takes Raleigh a moment to recognize him: Carl, his contact from the Songs of Blue.

“Carl?” he say. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

On the other end of the line, Carl lets out a sharp bark of laughter.

 _“Sorry about that,”_ he says. _“No choice.”_

“What’s up?” Raleigh asks warily. He’s beginning to get a nervous feeling in his gut, the feeling he gets right before an operation goes horribly wrong. He’d had it before Knifehead, and in the years since then he’s learned to be finely attuned to its warnings.

 _“The Shepherd needs you at the ranch,”_ Carl says. _“Now.”_

“Why?” Raleigh asks. “Is something wrong?”

 _“I can’t tell you,”_ Carl says. _“I’m pulling up outside your building now. Come downstairs. We have to go.”_

Raleigh swears profusely inside his head. Something’s gone terribly wrong. He doesn’t let any of his anxiousness show though. A misstep here could see both him and Chuck killed.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll be right down. Give me five to get dressed.”

 _“Take ten,”_ Carl says. _“And pack a bag for a few days.”_

Raleigh acknowledges Carl’s comments and hangs up. He spends a moment staring at the phone in his hands, mind working furiously on what might be going on and what they can do about it.

Then he calls Patrick.

He picks up on the third ring. _“Raleigh?”_ he says, sounding just as exhausted as Raleigh. _“It’s fucking three o’clock in the morning.”_

“I know,” Raleigh says. “My contact called. They want me to come back in immediately.”

There’s a pause. _“How immediately is immediately?”_ Patrick asks.

“He’s waiting downstairs,” Raleigh says.

Patrick curses softly. _“Any idea what’s got them changing their plans?”_ he asks.

“No,” Raleigh says. “And I don’t like it.”

_“No, neither do I.”_

“We don’t have a choice though,” Raleigh says. “I have to go in.”

Technically, that’s not true. Raleigh or Patrick could pull the plug at any time if it looks like the opp will be too dangerous — and this definitely feels dangerous. But Patrick never mentions it and Raleigh is grateful that the other man knows him well enough to know that that would never be an option for him.

He and Patrick hash out some contingency plans and review the protocol for being out-of-contact for an extended period. Raleigh has no idea what he’s walking in to, but knows it’s best to be prepared.

Patrick lets him go with an admonishment to be careful.

With minutes to spare, he stuffs some spare clothes in an empty duffle and heads for the door. Before he walks out of the apartment, he takes a moment to pause and check that the listening device worked into a leather band around his wrist and the GPS tracker attached to the dog tags around his neck are still there.

Then he takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and heads downstairs to meet Carl.

 

* * *

 

 

They arrive back at the farmhouse to find it a hive of activity. Despite it being the middle of the night, every light is on, inside and outside the house. The lights are on in the residential compound as well, and people are moving everywhere. The driveway and front yard are packed with cars, trucks and vans, all of them being loaded up.

“What’s going on?” Raleigh asks as Carl eases the car to a stop near the edge of the activity.

Carl shakes his head. “You have to hear it from the Shepherd,” he says and gets out of the car.

Raleigh sighs and follows him into the mess of activity, dodging people as they make their way towards the house. Now that they’re closer, Raleigh can see that they’re definitely packing up. The vehicles are being loaded with crates of supplies and duffels of personal belongings. It looks like they’re moving out, and that makes Raleigh nervous. There were no indications when he left earlier that the cult was planning on moving anywhere. He needs to know what changed to make them apparently pull up their stakes and head out in the middle of the night.

He needs to know if his cover has been blown. If they know about the FBI raid being hastily pulled together only a few miles away.

Mills meets them on the front veranda. He’s standing at the railing, watching the bustling activity below. Carl stops at the bottom of the stairs and gestures Raleigh forwards. Raleigh climbs the stairs slowly and goes to stand by Mills. The older man says nothing, staring out at the activity in the darkness. Raleigh stands quietly and waits. There’s a strange tension in the air, one that Raleigh doesn’t think it would be… safe… to break.

Finally, Mills turns to look at him. His expression — triumph and excitement — makes Raleigh both relieved and nervous. He doesn’t think his cover’s been blown or that Mills is expecting an imminent raid from the FBI; neither of things would make him triumphant.

But something _is_ making him look like the man who has received everything he ever dreamed of, and seeing that expression on the face of a man leading a Kaiju-worshipping cult at the top of the terror watch list is something Raleigh thinks he should definitely be worried about.

“Mr. Becket,” Mills says, acknowledging Raleigh with a nod. “Good. I’m glad you were able to make it on such short notice.”

“I’m glad to be here,” Raleigh says, “but I have to admit I’m a little confused.”

Mills chuckles. “That’s perfectly understandable. I doubt you were expecting to be called out to _this_ ,” he waves his hands at the trucks and the people, “at such an early hour of the morning.”

Raleigh shakes his head, hesitates, then asks, “If I may, what exactly is going on here?”

Mills smiles, open and joyous. “We’ve received good news,” he says. “It seems that our Kaiju Gods are coming early.”

“Early?” Raleigh asks, a little stutter in his voice.

Mills nods. “Yes,” he says. “Our friend at the PPDC says they estimate one will arrive within the next two days.” Mills pauses and smiles slyly. “Perhaps our gods have learned of our sacrifice and have come early to receive it.”

Raleigh feels numb, a little like he’s floating outside of his body.

“And all this…” he trails off, gesturing at the vehicles.

“We must get to the coast before our gods arrive,” Mills says. “We hope they will come to us, but we must be prepared to meet him at sea. There is a boat waiting for us in San Francisco.”

Raleigh nods absently. _Shit_ , he thinks. _Shit, shit, shit_. It’s too soon. The raid is still hours away at the earliest, and if they get moving before it comes, it will be damn near impossible for the taskforce to safely extract Raleigh and Chuck from this mess. The Kaiju isn’t meant to be coming for days. Raleigh’s meant to have time to get Chuck out of here long before the real danger of the sacrifice comes.

It looks like he’s not going to get that time.

 _Just my fucking luck_ , he thinks.

There’s a commotion behind them and both men turn. The first thing Raleigh sees is the back of a muscled man in a plaid shirt. He’s carrying something, but struggling to hold it. As he comes through the door, Raleigh recognizes him as the belligerent man from earlier in the day. But what catches Raleigh’s attention is what the other man is carrying: the top half of Chuck Hansen, bound, gagged, and blind-folded. The teenager is struggling fiercely, twisting and bucking in an attempt to get free. Raleigh doesn’t know what he thinks he’s going to accomplish. The teenager’s ankles and knees are bound as well, so even if he did get free of the men holding him, he wouldn’t be going anywhere.

“Ah, Mr. Hansen,” Mills says, striding forwards. “Are you ready for your big day?”

Chuck stills, then renews his struggling. Raleigh can hear muffled sounds coming from behind his gag. The words are indistinguishable, but Raleigh guesses that he’s cursing.

“Put him in the van, Earl,” Mills says to the plaid-wearing muscle man. Earl nods and he and his partner carry the struggling teenager across the veranda, down the stairs, and towards a white panel van parked close to the house. They throw the teenager into the back and slam the doors. Raleigh tries not to wince at the thud the teenage pilot’s body makes as it hits the van’s metal floor.

“Raleigh,” Mills says, drawing Raleigh’s attention back to the older man. “You’ll be traveling with Ranger Hansen. We won’t have time to bring him to true repentance, but I trust that you will do whatever is needed to prepare to face his sacrifice.”

Raleigh nods mutely, having no idea what to say.

His silence seems acceptable to Mills, because the man nods and gestures him down the stairs. Carl is waiting at the bottom, holding Raleigh’s duffel. Raleigh takes the duffel and heads towards the van, conscious of Mills stare on his back.

Earl is waiting for him, leaning against the back of the van and glowering. With a sinking heart, Raleigh realizes that Earl will be the van’s driver. He holds back a despondent sigh. He doesn’t need to deal with this suspicious asshole as well as trying to get himself and Chuck out of this mess.

“I’ll ride in the back,” he says, pre-emptively.

Earl studies him, the nods sharply. He turns and cracks open the back of the van, then curses because Chuck has wriggled his way across the floor and as soon as the van door cracks open he lunges towards the opening. He doesn’t get far. Earl catches him around the waist and slings him back into the van. Hard. Raleigh winces as Chuck’s head slams against the metal grill behind the driver’s seat.

He opens his mouth to reprimand Earl, but the other man’s glower stops him. He can tell that Earl would love nothing more than to slam Raleigh against the van as well. Probably repeatedly.

Raleigh decides to pick his battles and climbs silently into the back of the van.

Earl slams the door behind him. While he’s making his way to the driver’s seat, Raleigh takes the opportunity of semi-privacy to kneel and examine Chuck. The teenager is dazed, but still breathing. He’s been knocked senseless and doesn’t react as Raleigh probes the nasty, bleeding lump on the back of his head. Raleigh prays that it isn’t serious. He doesn’t think any of these people would care if Chuck died… as long as he didn’t die before their grand sacrifice.

Earl cracks open the driver’s side door and Raleigh quickly belts Chuck in to one of the seats installed along the sides of the van. He buckles himself into a seat behind the cab as Earl settles himself into the driver’s seat and starts the van’s engine.

Turning and craning his head to look out the front windshield, Raleigh can see that vehicles have started to pull out of the front yard and onto the driveway, heading for the road. It seems like they’re really serious about moving out, Raleigh thinks, disheartened.

He turns away, not really wanting to watch as Earl shifts the van into gear and joins the convoy.

Instead, Raleigh sets his mind to plotting. They’re a two day drive from San Francisco. That means he has two day to get himself and Chuck away from these people before Chuck ends up a sacrifice to the Kaiju.

Raleigh’s sure he’s been in worse situations, but right at that moment, he can’t think of any.

 

* * *

 

 

 

>  
> 
> ###  **JAEGER PILOT MISSING?**
> 
> _Where is Ranger Chuck Hansen?_
> 
> by Sarah Tepper
> 
> INVESTIGATIVE REPORTER
> 
>  
> 
> One of our Jaeger pilots is missing, presumed kidnapped, a PPDC source revealed today. According to our source, one of the world’s elite Kaiju-fighting warriors has disappeared and word in the PPDC is that kidnapping is suspected.
> 
> The PPDC is keeping everything hushed up, our source claims, so information is sketchy, but rumours are that the missing pilot is Ranger Chuck Hansen, who pilots Striker Eureka with his father, Hercules Hansen
> 
> And indeed, Ranger Chuck Hansen, who has never demonstrated any shyness for the media, hasn’t been seen in public for weeks.
> 
> The PPDC has denied all rumours of kidnapping, but refuses to provide any information about the whereabouts of the Striker Eureka’s pilots
> 
> If their claims are true, then where is Ranger Hansen? 

 

 

* * *

 

 

The first hours of the drive are tense. Raleigh’s exhausted, but the tension keeps his mind whirling and keeps him from sleeping. He spends those hours watching Chuck breath as the teenager’s head lolls against the side of the van. He worries about chuck’s continuing unconsciousness, even as his mind works furiously on the situation they find themselves in. He makes and discards half-a-dozen plans before deciding that he’s going to have to play it by ear.

All he knows for sure is that he has to keep Chuck from getting sacrificed to a Kaiju and that everything else, including his own cover, is secondary.

He has to get them out of there, but he doesn’t know when or how he’s going to get the opportunity. He’s determined to keep watch.

When the opportunity comes, he’ll be ready.

With his thoughts still churning, Raleigh slips into an uneasy sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Raleigh is jerked from his sleep hours later when Earl bangs sharply on the grill between them. He twists around, blinking sleep from his eyes, to see Earl sneering down at him.

“Lunch break,” the other man says shortly.

Raleigh nods in acknowledgment, but the other man has already turned away to exit the van.

Raleigh yawns and stretches a little, working out the kinks from the uncomfortable ride and having to sleep sitting up. He glances over at Chuck, but the teenager is still sprawled unconscious against the van’s side panelling. Raleigh frowns in concern and decides to do a thorough check of the teenager once Raleigh’s had a chance to wake up and get some coffee in him. He doesn’t care whether Earl or the others object.

He unbuckles himself from his seat and clambers to his feet. Stooping, he makes his way towards the back of the van, boots clumping softly on the metal floor. He passes Chuck, nudging one of the teenager’s feet out of the way, and suddenly Chuck is in motion, bucking and kicking out with his bound feet. He smashes the side of Raleigh’s knee and Raleigh tumbles into the side of the van with a soft grunt.

He scrambles forwards towards the van doors, trying to get out of range of the thrashing teenager. It’s difficult in the small space, and Raleigh’s worried that Chuck might hurt himself in his panicked fighting.

Behind him, the van doors are yanked open. Earl and the others must have heard the commotion.

Raleigh pays them no attention, instead lunging forward to subdue the teenager. He throws one leg over Chuck’s, settling his weight on the teenager’s knees and pinning them to the floor. He catches Chuck’s flailing arms with one hand and pins the teenager to the side of the van with an arm braced across his collarbone. The teenager heaves against him, but Raleigh has weight and leverage against him. With a shudder, Chuck goes still, panting through the gag and tense in Raleigh’s hold.

“Everything all right in here?” Earl asks.

Raleigh glances at him from the corner of his eye, but keeps most of his attention focused on Chuck.

“We’re good,” he says.

Chuck goes even more tense and spits out something indecipherable into his gag. Raleigh guesses they’re insults.

“You sure?” Earl asks. “Kid looks like he needs a good lesson in behaviour.”

This close to Chuck, Raleigh can fear the shiver of fear that goes through the teenager at those words.

Raleigh shakes his head and turns his head to meet Earl’s eyes. “I don’t think that’s necessary,” he says. Earl opens mouth to argue, but Raleigh talks over him. “The Shepherd asked me to help him repent and prepare for his sacrifice. That’s a little hard to do if you beat him unconscious.”

Earl makes a mutinous face. “Fine,” he says. “Just keep the brat under control.”

Raleigh doesn’t bother to reply as Earl stalks away. His focus remains on the teenager tense beneath his hands.

“If you agree not to punch me, I’ll take off the blindfold and the gag,” he says.

Chuck doesn’t respond for a long moment, then nods once. Raleigh lets go of his hands slowly, then leans backwards and lowers the arm bracing Chuck against the wall. He stays alert, waiting for the teenager to attack, but Chuck stays motionless. Raleigh breathes out a silent lungful of air, pleased to have gotten at least some co-operation from the teenage pilot.

He reaches forward, slowly and smoothly, to slide the blindfold up and off Chuck’s head. It sticks a bit in the back, matted against the teenager hair from the drying blood of his head wound. Chuck’s eyes pop open the instant the blindfold is gone. The light in the back of the van is dim, but Chuck blinks repeatedly and winces as if it hurts him. Raleigh remembers that Chuck’s been held captive for weeks; he probably hasn’t seen any daylight is just as long.

He gives Chuck a moment to re-orient himself before reaching for the gag. The instant he moves, the teenager’s focus snaps to him. Raleigh raises and eyebrow and stills, waiting for confirmation. Chuck nods a second time, wincing and blinking at the movement, as if it causes him pain. That worries Raleigh; he’ll have to check it later.

He reaches forward again to remove the gag. It’s tied tight — too tight to slip free. Raleigh has to reach behind Chuck’s head and untie the cloth where it’s knotted against the back of Chuck’s neck. The knot comes free after a few moments of fighting and the gag slips from between Chuck’s teeth.

Raleigh shifts back and clambers off the teenager’s legs, moving to lean against the opposite wall. They watch each other for a moment as Chuck works the soreness from his jaw and, wincing, touches two fingers to the lump on the back of his head. Chuck’s licks his lips and bits his bottom lip, obviously wanting to ask something, but hesitant to do so. Raleigh doesn’t know whether Chuck’s reluctance comes from weeks of torture at the hands of the cultists or whether it’s Raleigh himself that’s keeping Chuck silent. Raleigh decides to figure it out later. Right now, they both need food and water, and Chuck needs to be checked over for serious injuries.

Raleigh clambers to his feet, stooping awkwardly to keep from banging his head against the roof of the van. “I’ll be back,” he says he says to Chuck. He gets no response, so he shrugs and pops open the rear door of the van.

The fresh air and sunlight outside of the van are a welcome change. Raleigh looks around and sees that they appear to have stopped at a dilapidated rest stop. The trucks and cars and vans of the convoy are ranged out across the rest stop’s vast parking lot. A quick glance shows that the van carrying Raleigh and Chuck is parked in the middle of the grouping. There are no obvious guards, but a few men are unusually attentive as they hang around their vehicles. One of them has a shot gun propped next to him, and another has a revolver strapped to his thigh, western style. There won’t be an easy escape from these people.

Raleigh lets the van door thud closed behind him and looks around for someone he recognizes. He doesn’t see anyone he knows more than vaguely but he does see the sloped brown roof of the rest stop and figures he’ll be able to find food, water, a bathroom and maybe a first aid kit somewhere in there. He makes sure the van door is closed, glances at the windows to where he knows Chuck is sitting (even though he can’t see the teenagers through the dark tinted glass, and heads out through the convoy.

By the time he reaches the rest stop, he’s worked the stiffness out of his legs and woken up enough that hunger has started to rumble in his stomach. A long look around the rest stop gives Raleigh little hope of finding anything reasonable to eat. The structure is little more than a shelter for a few picnic tables and a row of old vending machines, and a single bathroom. There’s already a line for the bathroom, so Raleigh wanders over to the vending machines. As he noted, they’re mostly empty, with only a few packets of stale chips and peanuts and a couple lone granola bars left inside. Raleigh is considering whether it would be worth going back to his duffel for change when he sees Mills approaching behind through the dirty surface of the vending machine glass. He turns to meet the older man.

“Good morning, sir,” he says.

Mills smiles. “I think it’s gone to afternoon now,” he says.

Raleigh checks his watch, and Mills is right. While he’d been sleeping, the clock had ticked over into the afternoon.

“So it has,” Raleigh says.

Mills nods. “How is it coming with our sacrifice?” he asks.

Raleigh winces and scrambles for a response. “To be honest,” he says, “the kid has only just woken up. We haven’t made any progress yet.”

Mills frowns and Raleigh holds his breath.

“Our gods are coming soon,” he says, “and the sacrifice must be ready.”

Raleigh nods. “I know, sir,” he says cautiously, “but the kid is in rough shape.” He pauses, considering a potentially dangerous idea, then decides to go for it. “We might get better results if we approached this a different way,” he says slowly.

Mills arches an eyebrow at him.

“Go on,” he says, face betraying nothing.

Raleigh presses on. “The kid is in bad shape,” he says, “and I don’t think that’s going to help us. He hates us enough to refuse to repent out of stubbornness and having animosity won’t help him prepare for his role in the sacrifice. It’s more likely to make him resist on principle.”

“What do you suggest?”

Raleigh takes a deep breath. “We be nice to him.”

Mills says nothing, but his expression is incredulous. Raleigh rushes forwards, hoping he’s not about to blow everything, but needing to see this through. “We treat his injuries, feed him, stop trying to make him repent through violence. Talk to him instead.”

Mills frowns. “You think that will bring greater success,” he says. He sounds doubtful.

Raleigh shrugs. “I know this kid. I know how he thinks, how he’ll react. Because I used to be this kid. He’s stubborn and the only way violence is going to make him repent is if you break him first. And that’s going to take longer than you have.

He pauses. Mills is watching him thoughtfully. “When I… when I made the change, finally abandoned who I was and embraced the truth, I needed time and the chance to think things through. To come to my own conclusions. Hansen will need the same. We’re too close to the sacrifice to give him the time he needs, but maybe a kind voice and a helping hand will get him closer to the edge.”

Mills nods, his face considering. “You think he will trust you to be that voice?” he asks.

Raleigh shrugs. “I’m new here and he knows that. He knows I haven’t been part of any of the violence against him. More than that, he knows I used to be like him. That I’m coming from the same place he is. I think I’m more likely to be able to help him see the truth than anyone.”

Mills is silent for a moment, considering and thoughtful. Finally, he nods. “Yes,” he says, “I think you may be right. Blessed Kaiju knows we haven’t gotten anywhere with what we’ve tried.  Yes, we will let you try your way.” His gaze sharpens on Raleigh. “I am trusting you with this Raleigh. _Do not_ let me down.”

Raleigh nods, reading the implicit threat in Mills words and sharp tone. “I won’t sir,” he says.

Mills face softens suddenly and he smiles. “I’ve told you to call me Taylor,” he says, laughing a little. “Now, let’s get you what you need to _be kind_ to our little sacrifice.”

 

* * *

 

 

Raleigh slips back into the van 20 minutes later with a bag full of food, several bottles of water and a first aid kit in a plastic box tucked under one arm.

Chuck is still securely bound and strapped to the side of the van, but as Raleigh comes through the door, he quickly lowers his wrists away from his mouth. He’s been trying to bite through the plastic zip-ties holding his wrists together. He looks nervous that he’s been caught but defiant.

Raleigh smiles wryly at him “That’s not going to get you anywhere,” he says,” but you’re welcome to try.”

Chuck grits his teeth and looks like he’s barely restraining himself from kicking Raleigh in the face. He glowers at Raleigh and bares his teeth.

Raleigh hides his smile and settles in opposite the teenager “If you’re willing to co-operate, I’ve brought food and drink,” he says.

Chuck blinks and glances at the plastic bag in Raleigh’s hands. He bites his lip, defiance warring with hunger and thirst. Finally he nods. “I’m willing not ‘ta kick you in the face if you feed me,” he says, mutinously. He looks like he wants to cross his arms, but can’t because of the ties around his wrists His defiance makes Raleigh want to smile, but he keeps it inside. He needs not to antagonize Chuck.

Raleigh nods. “That sounds reasonable,” he says. He rustles around in the bag, pulling out a bag of beef jerky, a granola bar, and a water bottle. He slides all three across the van floor, watching them come to a stop against Chuck’s thigh.

“For you,” he says.

Chuck watches him warily, then snatches up the food and drink. He tucks the granola bar and beef jerky in his lap and pulls his knees towards his chest. It doesn’t look like a comfortable position, but it’s one that will make taking the food away from him very difficult. It makes Raleigh’s heart ache, because he knows it’s a behaviour Chuck had to have learned from his captivity with the cult.

He watches Chuck wrestle with the cap of the water bottle, but doesn’t offer to help, even though Chuck looks like he needs it. He’ll let the kid keep whatever pride he has left. He needs Chuck to stay defiant, unbroken, for both their sakes.

They eat in silence for a few minutes. Raleigh chews slowly through his own meal of jerky, granola bar, and dried apricots while Chuck tears through his in minutes. He’s sipping his water bottle, obviously trying to make it last while looking like he desperately wants to down the whole thing, and watching Raleigh.

Or, Raleigh thinks, watching the food in Raleigh’s hands.

“You can have more if you can keep down what you’ve just had,” Raleigh says.

Chuck’s eyes flick up to meet Raleigh’s. He looks startled.

“Why do you care?” he says. He tries to sound tough, but a hint of fear, of yearning to be safe, comes through in his tone.

“Because I do,” Raleigh says simply.

Chuck scoffs. “Doubt that,” he says. “You just want something from me. For me to _‘repent’._ Just like the rest.”

“I can’t care about you too?” he says.

Chuck makes a face and narrows his eyes at Raleigh. “It won’t work,” he says. “This ‘nice guy’ thing you’re doing. I won’t convert or repent or whatever the hell it is you want from me.”

Raleigh shrugs and says nothing. He can’t exactly tell Chuck that the teenager’s refusal to give in is exactly what Raleigh wants.

Chuck seems taken aback by Raleigh’s casual acceptance of his ongoing defiance. Disgruntled, he settles back against the van wall and watches Raleigh. Raleigh watches him right back and he finishes off his food. He notices that Chuck is squinting and that he seems to be having difficulty focusing on Raleigh. He makes several aborted movements with his hands, as if he wants to reach up and press his fingers against his temples. It’s making Raleigh nervous that his head wound from being thrown into the van that morning might be more serious than he hoped.

Raleigh rolls to his knees and shuffles forwards, dragging the first aid kit with one hand. Chuck’s attention immediately snaps to Raleigh, and the teenager glares at him.

“What are you doing?” he asks sharply.

Raleigh wiggles the first aid kit with one hand. “Checking to make sure you don’t keel over and die on me,” he says.

Chuck snorts. “Cuz it would be bad for your ‘sacrifice’ to die before you got to the killing part of this little excursion, would it?”

Raleigh smiles and shrugs. “That, and I do actually care about you,” he says.

Chuck seems thrown, staring at Raleigh a little wide-eyed.

“Now,” Raleigh says, “are you going to let me look at your head or are you going to keep being difficult?”

Chuck stares at Raleigh, then nods slowly, wincing at the movement.

Raleigh scoots forwards and perches on the bench next to Chuck, the first aid kit open between them. Chuck twists to face Raleigh, still glaring at him despite his co-operation. Raleigh fishes a flashlight out of the kit and decides to make this examination as fast as possible. He doubts that Chuck’s co-operation will last for long.

He reaches towards Chuck’s chin, intending to tip his head forward and look at the wound on the back of his skull, but the teenager jerks away from him with a gasp, eyes wide. Raleigh freezes and pulls back slowly, heads spread to show he means no harm.

“I just want to look at that bump on the back of your head,” he says.

Chuck watches him, still breathing hard, but finally nods and tilts his head forwards. Raleigh approaches slowly and obviously, aware that Chuck is watching him out of the corner of his eye.

He cups Chuck’s chin with one hand, tilting his face down and away from Raleigh so that he can get a look at the lump on the back. Even without the flashlight, Raleigh can see the blood matted in Chuck’s ginger hair, making a dark stain off to one side of the back of his skull. Blood has stopped trickling from the wound, but Raleigh can see that there’s a large lump under the skin. He probes the lump gently, ignoring Chuck’s inward hiss of breath at the pain. The lump is large and Raleigh feels something hard, like bone, shift under his probing fingers. That, he thinks, is very bad.

He tucks the flashlight in between his teeth and rummages in the first aid kit for some antibiotic cream and an adhesive bandage. He cleans the wound quickly, gently applies the cream, and covers the whole thing with the adhesive square. It’s not much, Raleigh knows. What Chuck really needs is a hospital, a qualified doctor, and an MRI. Raleigh’s emergency first aid class from the Jaeger Academy is only going to do so much good here.

Finished bandaging the wound, he takes the flashlight out of his mouth and gently turns Chuck’s face towards his. He’s concerned about how serious the head wound and a check of Chuck’s pupils with the flashlight confirms Raleigh’s fears. The teenager’s pupils are uneven and one is less responsive to light. Combined with the persistent headache Chuck’s grimace suggests that he’s experiencing and his mild problems in visually focusing on his surroundings, and Raleigh suspects the head injury might be serious. Surgery required, bleeding in the brain serious.

Raleigh frowns and bites his lip as he flicks off the flashlight and releases Chuck’s chin. He doesn’t say anything to the teenager, mind working furiously over the options. The rest of the exam is conducted in near silence.  Raleigh gestures or curtly requests Chuck shift a certain way and the teenager complies, never taking his eyes or his attention off Raleigh. Raleigh treats what he can, but there’s not much he can do. He puts antibiotic cream and butterfly bandages over the smaller scrapes. A few of the larger gashes look like they should have stitches, but even if Raleigh had the tools in the first aid kit (he doesn’t; it’s a very basic kit), most of them have been left to long, their edges now inflamed and ragged. Raleigh cleans them as much as he can, covers them with antibiotic cream, closes the edges with butterfly bandages and covers as many of the open wounds as he can with adhesives pads and wraps. There’s nothing he can do about the broken and fractured ribs (though he now knows that Chuck has three broken ribs and several more that Raleigh suspects are fractured or seriously bruised) or about the smashed knee. Through the whole process, Chuck doesn’t make a single sound, gritting his teeth to keep the whimpers of pain from being vocalized.

The only time he makes a sound is when it comes time to set his broken hand. Raleigh stares at the mangled mess of misaligned bones for nearly a minute, trying to figure out how to realign the bones and save Chuck’s motor skills and dexterity. When he pulls a set of tongue depressors and sports wrap from the first aid kit, Chuck seems to realize what he’s about to do and tries to pull his hand away. Raleigh refuses to let him go.

“It needs to be done,” Raleigh says, meeting Chuck’s gaze.

Chuck opens his mouth to protest, but Raleigh continues on. “It needs to be done,” he repeats. “The longer we leave it, the worse the damage becomes.”

Chuck looks tense and a little afraid. Raleigh’s knows that desire to avoid the pain must be at war with his desire to protect his place as a Jaeger pilot. Finally he nods and says “Wouldn’t want to damage my ability to kill the Kaiju.” There’s a light of challenge in his eyes and he clearly expects Raleigh to react to the threat against “his gods.”

Raleigh forces himself not to smile and does nothing but incline his head. He doesn’t give Chuck any warning before he snaps the first finger bone back into its proper alignment. Chuck lets out a gasp and a whimper of pain that he quickly chokes off.

“Could have used a warning, mate,” he says, sounding out of breath.

Raleigh raises an eyebrow and, without saying anything, forcefully realigns the second finger. Chuck manages to keep himself from crying out, but he grits his teeth so hard that Raleigh can hear them creak. He gently shifts the rest of the broken hand bones back into some semblance of the correct alignment, before bracing the whole hand with tongue depressors and wrapping it in a tension bandage.

It’s not pretty or functional, but it should provide some support until Raleigh can get Chuck to a hospital

The two sit quietly for a minute, Raleigh running through all the ways this opp is probably going to end in disaster while Chuck tries to get his breathing under control.

Finally, Chuck swallows hard, breathes out a deep breath and meets Raleigh’s gaze. Raleigh, who’d switched back to the other side of the van after tidying up the first aid kit, meets his gaze and stares back calmly.

“So, what’s the damage?” Chuck asks.

Raleigh sighs. “You remember the sessions from the Academy about concussive force and internal damage and skull fractures and brain bleeds?” he asks.

Chuck nods cautiously. Raleigh isn’t surprised. With the amount of strain Jaeger pilots were under just moving their machines, never mind the concussive force they took when they slammed into the Kaiju (or the Kaiju slammed into them), internal injuries, concussions concussions and bruises had been a common occurrence and more serious injuries such as internal bleeding and skull fractures had been real concerns. The Academy had drilled every pilot over and over and over about the signs of these deadly injuries.

“Well,” Raleigh says. “That’s how bad the damage is.”

For a moment, Chuck’s mask is completely stripped away and Raleigh seems the crushing fear the teenage pilot keeps hidden inside. It makes Raleigh breath catch and he vows silently to do whatever he has to get Chuck out of this.

Then Chuck pulls his armour back around himself. “Guess it doesn’t matter,” he says, “since you’re planning to kill me anyway.”

Raleigh doesn’t manage to hide his wince. “It matters,” he says.

“If it matters,” Chuck says, leaning forwards, “if I matter, then _help me_.”

Raleigh opens his mouth to do something stupid like say _‘I am helping you; I’m here to save you’_ and confess his role as an undercover FBI agent when the driver’s door bangs open and Earl heaves himself into the front of the van.

“Everything cozy back there?” he asks, turning in his seat to sneer at Chuck and glare at Raleigh.

“We’re good,” Raleigh says, silently blessing the other man for his timely entrance. Raleigh thinks ruefully that he would never have anticipated being grateful to a cultist for good timing, but Earl’s entrance has kept him from taking a serious risk and telling Chuck everything.

He may be here to help the kid, but he’s not stupid.

Earl snorts and stares suspiciously at them before sighing. “Heading out in five,” he says. “If you want to use the bathroom, now’s the time,” he says to Raleigh. He completely ignores Chuck. Nevertheless, Raleigh glances at the teenager and raises a questioning eyebrow. Chuck shakes his head, then closes his eyes and leans back again the wall of the van.

Raleigh shrugs and looks back at Earl. “We’re good,” he says again. Then he settles back in his own seat and buckles himself in. It’s going to be long hours on the road before they stop again. The overnight stop is probably Raleigh’s best chance to get them both out of this situation, and he needs to be prepared for it. If he’s lucky, he’ll be able to call Patrick in to arrest these people before they get away and they can tie up the entire operation in a tidy bow.

 

* * *

 

 

They stop again for a break in the middle of the afternoon. Raleigh gets out to stretch his legs and go to bathroom. Despite Earl’s protests, Raleigh also slices through the ties around Chuck’s legs and walks him to the bathroom. Four men with guns close in around them as they make their way through the group of cars to the small roadside restroom. It reminds Raleigh of some of the bodyguard details he and Yancy had gotten during the height of the Jaeger fan days, except he knows these men aren’t here to protect them. They’re here to make sure Chuck doesn’t escape and they’re more than willing to shoot to make that happen.

He can see Chuck’s gaze flicking around the convoy and over the guards, obviously looking for a way out. But the guards are too close and too alert, and the deprivations and beatings have made Chuck too weak. He’s glad when the teenager settles and stops looking like he’s about to bolt, regardless of his chances for success.

When they get back to the van, Raleigh sees Chuck buckled back into his seat, but neglects to put new zip ties around his legs or ankles. He wants Chuck to be able to run when the situation calls for it.

He sees two of the guards taking up positions at the back door of the van as he goes around to talk to Earl. After a quiet conversation (with a great deal of glaring on Earl’s part) Raleigh climbs back into the rear of the van and slides closed the privacy and sounds barriers that separate the front from the back. He has no illusions that their conversation  will be secure — he suspects Mills at least has listening devices in the back of the van — but at least they’ll have the illusion of privacy.

It might make Chuck ease up and it will play into the story Raleigh is spinning about providing a kind hand to help Chuck convert.

Chuck notices Raleigh closing the privacy panels and stares at him as he settles back on the opposite side of the van. Raleigh scrutinizes him and is surprised to see that the privacy hasn’t relaxed Chuck. Instead, it seems to have made him more tense.

“Relax,” Raleigh says soothingly, “they’re just to give us a little privacy.”

“Privacy for what,” Chuck demands. His entire posture is tense and he looks like he’d curl up into a protective ball if he didn’t think it would make him look weak.

“To talk,” Raleigh says, a little thrown by the extreme reaction.

“Just talk?” Chuck asks.

Raleigh nods slowly. “Just talk,” he says.

Chuck stares at him, seemingly judging his truthfulness. He must see something he trusts because he relaxes and the tension eases out of his body.

“Talking is okay, I suppose,” he says.

Raleigh nods in acknowledgement, absently puzzling over what could have made Chuck react so badly. “Were you thinking it would be something else?” he asks, a little jokingly. But Chuck pales and clenches his unbroken hand so hard that his knuckles show white. He’s watching Raleigh warily, as if afraid that he’ll—

And suddenly, Raleigh has a terrible feeling about what kind of things must have happened to Chuck to make him react this way to be enclosed “in private” with someone from the cult.

“Wait,” Raleigh says, “you thought I’d…” His understanding and horror must show clearly on his face because Chuck relaxes a little and shrugs uncomfortably.

“You already turned traitor and betrayed the human race by joining these freaks. Who the hell knows how far you’ve fallen? How much like the rest of these freaks you are.” He says it defensively, shoulders tense and arms pressed close to his body.

“I’m not,” Raleigh says, shaking his head firmly in denial. “I’m a lot things,” he says, “but definitely not that.”

Chuck nods, looking, at least a little, like he believes Raleigh.

Raleigh sighs and settles back against the wall of the van, studying the teenager in front of him. He’s silent for a moment as he mentally revises the conversation he was planning on having with Chuck. He knows that Earl is probably listening and expecting Raleigh to be trying to convert Chuck.

Raleigh has to make was looks like a real effort to convert the teenager or his cover as a loyal member of the cult is going to be in serious jeopardy.

On the other hand, Raleigh has to subtly reinforce Chuck’s defiance and actually keep the teenager from doing anything that even approaches conversion.

It’s a delicate balance, and one that’s going to be difficult for Raleigh to walk. He knows exactly what it would take to break the teenager, what buttons to push to get Chuck thinking his way. Patrick’s intensive psychology crash-course had taught him that. And he has to keep himself from using any of it, no matter what the undercover persona wants to do.

Raleigh breathes out slowly and settles himself.

This is going to be a long day.

 

* * *

 

 

The convoy stops for the night at a small, our-of-the-way campground run by a cult sympathizer. The sun has already dipped below the horizon and night is falling rapidly. Most of the area is in shadows and little of the fading light reaches the convoy through the large, overhanging trees. Everyone is exhausted from spending the day travelling; even Raleigh, who didn’t little more than ride in the back of a van and have a very emotional conversation with a difficult teenager feels a yearning for sleep tugging at his limbs. The conversation was every bit as harrowing as Raleigh expected it to be and he’s downright exhausted now.

Maybe the exhaustion makes them all less alert, or maybe they’ve been lulled into complacency after a day of being obeyed (if reluctantly), but none of them are expecting Chuck to make a break for freedom.

Even Raleigh, who knew the teenage pilot was not content to be lead placidly to his death, wasn’t prepared for Chuck to knock Raleigh’s legs out from under him and slam his head into the ground the moment that they stepped out of the van. Dazed from the blow, Raleigh barely struggles as the teenager drags him into a choke hold. The forearm around his throat is muscular and solid and doesn’t budge as Raleigh tugs feebly at it.

 _It’s a good hold,_ Raleigh thinks as he gasps for air and his vision starts to darken. It’s not perfect. Raleigh could get out of it, but the only way to do that would be to do serious damage to Chuck.

Which would defeat the purpose of trying to save him.

Raleigh’s vision is almost black and he feels himself slipping into unconsciousness. If he’s going to do anything, he needs to act now, because if he doesn’t he’ll be unconscious and helpless and possibly dead. Just as Raleigh think that Chuck is going to kill him, the arm around his throat loosens. Raleigh slumps to the ground as oxygen floods into his burning lungs.

From his dazed position on the ground, Raleigh sees that Chuck wastes no time in scrambling back to his feet. He’s not fast enough, though, to escape before Earl comes around the side of the van and sees him.

Earl lets out a roar and lunges at Chuck, but the teenager is ready for him. _Bet he’s a menace in the Kwoon_ , Raleigh thinks muzzily as Chuck effortlessly flips Earl over his shoulder and slams him into the ground. The bulky man lands with a loud thud. Before he can get any air back in his lungs, Chuck takes a step forwards and slams his foot into Earl’s throat, crushing his windpipe.

Raleigh lies frozen on the ground, watching Chuck stand over Earl’s body with a satisfied smile on his face. Earl scrabbles at his throat, futilely trying to suck in air. His face turns blue and his eyes bug out as he gasps and twitches. As the seconds pass, his movements slow and he goes limp in the grass.

Chuck nudges the body with one bare foot, and spits on him when he doesn’t move. Chuck hasn’t escaped the encounter unscathed, though. The throw must have aggravated both his broken ribs and his crushed hand because he stumbles backwards to lean against the van and take a few breaths.

The sound of the fight has drawn attention. Even as Raleigh tries to clear the fog from his mind and push himself into an upright position, he hears the sound of booted feet coming in their direction and a concerned voice calling out to ask if everything is okay.

Chuck pushes himself to his feet and his eyes lock with Raleigh’s. He looks like he’s contemplating whether to come back and finish Raleigh of, but the voice, a guard Raleigh thinks, calls again and Chuck obviously decides not to waste any more time. The last Raleigh sees is him slipping away in the other direction. He’s managed to push himself up onto his hands and knees by the time three of the guards come around the corner of a nearby Jeep. The lead man lets out a curse when he sees them and rushes to Raleigh’s side. The other two head for Earl’s body.

“What the hell happened?” the lead guard asks.

“Earl’s dead,” the guard next to the body says, as the leader reaches down and hauls Raleigh to his feet.

“Fuck,” the man says. “Fucking hell. What the fuck happened here?”

Raleigh sways and has to close his eyes to keep the world from spinning before he can answer.

“Hansen,” he says, croaking through his abused throat

The guard curses. “Pierson,” he orders, “go tell the Shepherd.” One of the guards nods and darts off.

The lead guard turns to the one still kneeling by Earl. “Call the perimeter,” he says. “Let them know that Hansen is running and that they’re authorized to shoot.” The guard nods and turns away, raising his radio to his mouth.

Raleigh feels his heart seize and his throat close.

“Authorized to shoot?” he croaks.

To lead guard stares back at him, eyes dark, then nods.

“A final security measure,” he says. “Just in case Hansen managed to get free.” He frowns and glances darkly over at Earl’s body. “The Shepherd said that if he can’t have a live sacrifice, then he wants a dead pilot.”

“They’re going to shoot to kill?” Raleigh asked urgently.

“If they have to,” the guard says.

Raleigh swallows pushes himself off the van. He sways on his feet, and has to breathe deeply a few times before he’s steady enough to be sure he won’t collapse. Then he takes a step, then two in the direction Chuck had gone.

“Where the hell are you going?” the guard asks.

Raleigh stares back at him. “We just lost our sacrifice,” he says. “I’m going to help get him back.”

The guard looks undecided.

“We’re not going to get another chance at this,” Raleigh says softly, urgently. “We have to do it right the first time. We have to do it _right_.”

The guard still doesn’t look convinced.

“For our Gods,” Raleigh says.

And that’s all it takes. The guard’s face fills with fills with fanatic devotion. “Go,” he says. “Catch that little bastard.”

“I will,” Raleigh says.

He means it. He fully intends on catching Chuck. Whether he brings Chuck back or helps him escape will depend entirely on whether Raleigh thinks they can get out without getting shot. He wants Chuck to escape. It’s actually part of his job to help Chuck escape.

But if the only way to keep Chuck from getting killed is to drag him back in, then Raleigh will do that and pray that they get another opportunity to get out.

The rest of the convoy is beginning to come to life around him, shouts echoing across the clearing as news of Chuck’s escape spreads. Raleigh listens as he staggers between the parked vehicles. Everyone seems to think that Chuck will head for the road to the north, and the search is organized in that direction.

Raleigh shakes his head, then winces at the pounding pain he feels from the movement.

The road is the obvious choice: the easiest to travel on and the quickest way to maybe get back to civilization and help. It seems the most logical way to go.

Which is exactly why Raleigh knows that Chuck is nowhere near the road.

He thinks he’s spent enough time with Chuck in the last day (and knows Herc and his twisty way of thinking very well since the memorable Manila drop) to know that Chuck is smart enough to avoid the obvious choice. He’ll head for the woods, Raleigh thinks, hoping to get swallowed by the wilderness and avoid detection.

The problem, Raleigh knows, will be the perimeter guard, armed and ordered to kill. That and Chuck’s unfamiliarity with the American deciduous forest. It’s something Australian-born chuck won’t have much familiarity with, outside the snow-swept landscape of Alaska, and that forest is not one that anyone was encouraged to get lost in.

Raleigh turns and heads towards the back of camp, the edge that borders the forest.

He’s edging through the gap left between a pickup truck and a green sedan at the edge of the clearing when he sees Chuck. The teenager is halfway across the open space between the cars and the treeline.

 _Almost home free_ , Raleigh thinks. Then he sees the glint of the rifle held by a man perched several metres up in a pine tree. His throat tightens. The man has the rifle braced against his shoulder, the sights locked on Chuck. About to fire.

 _Aw hell_ , Raleigh thinks and breaks out into a run. He crosses the distance between him and Chuck in several long strides, ignoring the way his head pounds and spots dance at the edge of his vision. Chuck must hear the noise of Raleigh’s approach because he glances back, sees Raleigh, and breaks into a run himself. But Raleigh’s too close and hasn’t spent the last few weeks being starved, sleep deprived, beaten, and tortured.

He catches up with Chuck and takes the teenager down with a flying tackle, just as the crack of the rifle firing sounds, worryingly close. Raleigh prays he isn’t about to get shot again, then has to put the shooter out of his mind because Chuck has begun to flail and struggle in his grasp. Raleigh wraps his legs around Chuck’s and uses his arms to pins Chuck’s to his chest.

It’s a struggle. Raleigh’s stronger but Chuck is desperate and he catches Raleigh with a few solid blows before Raleigh finally gets him pinned.

Raleigh can hear the sound of people approach, summoned by the gunshot. He knows he has to get control of this situation fast or there’s a very real risk that Chuck is going to die here.

Chuck manages to get an arm free and elbows Raleigh in the chest. Raleigh grits his teeth as pain explodes in his torso and grabs the flailing limb.

“I’m trying to help you,” he says urgently in Chuck’s ear.

Chuck bucks. “You’re trying to kill me,” he says through gritted teeth. “Get the fuck off me!”

Raleigh refuses to let go, riding out the teenager’s thrashing.

“I’m trying to help you,” Raleigh says again. “I’m here to help you.” He pauses. Decides to take a risk. “I’m not with these people,” he whispers in Chuck’s ear. “I’ll get you out of here. But not this way. You’ll get killed this way. I’m here to _save_ you. You’re not going to be sacrificed. I promise. I _promise_.”

Raleigh doesn’t know what Chuck responds to this, because a pair of booted feet comes to a stop a few feet away from them.

“Need a hand there?” a woman’s voice says.

Raleigh twists his head to look at her. It’s the shooter from the tree, the rifle slung across her shoulders. And now that she’s closer, Raleigh can see that what he thought was a man is actually a muscular woman.

“Please,” Raleigh says.

The woman reaches down to grab hold of Chuck. Raleigh lets go as she hauls the teenager to his feet and twists his injured arm hard behind his back. She grins toothily as Chuck cries out in pain and keeps twisting, forcing the teenager down onto his knees.

Raleigh sits up slowly, letting his body adjust and keeping his breathing even to keep from passing out. The adrenaline is flooding out of his system and he knows he’s not that far away from a complete crash.

“You shoulda been more careful out there,” the woman says. She elaborates when Raleigh raises a questioning eyebrow. “Shouldn’t a tackled this little brat,” she says, squeezing the wrist of Chuck’s broken hand so that Raleigh can hear the bones grinding together. Chuck chokes on a gasp of air and bites his lip to keep from crying out. “Shoulda let me shoot him. I had a good shot. If you hadn’t tackled him, it woulda been a bulls’ eye.” She glances over a Raleigh and narrows her eyes at him. “You almost got yourself shot for this one.”

Raleigh shrugs and meets Chuck eyes. There’s surprise in his gaze and a keen calculation. “Just doing my job,” he says, staring straight at Chuck. Chuck blinks and looks contemplative.

“And we’re very thankful for that,” a voice says behind them.

Raleigh turns and sees Mills coming around the corner of the pickup truck, followed by a group of hard looking men and women. Raleigh recognizes their faces from the wanted posters that Patrick compulsively flips through when he’s frustrated.

This is the military arm of the Songs of Blue. Raleigh swallows and offers a nod to Mills.

“I’m sorry for the situation, sir,” he says.

Mills waves him off. “None of us were expecting his tenacity or will to fight.” He circles around Raleigh and approaches Chuck, towering over him. Chuck stares back, as defiant as he can from his position on the ground. Mills reaches out and takes Chuck’s chin in a tight grip.

“Oh yes,” he says, “You’re quite the fighter. Good. Very good.” He strokes Chuck’s cheek with his free hand and holds the teenager’s head fast when he tries to flinch away. “Yes,” Mills hisses, sounding dreamy, “you’re spirit is commendable. In fact, I think the Kaiju will prefer you this way. Spirited, unbroken, unrepentant. Perhaps they will enjoy breaking you themselves.”

Chuck tries to twist away from Mills, but the man’s grip is to strong and the woman’s hold is too secure.

Finally, Mills steps back.

“Take him back to the van,” he orders. “Ensure he is bound hand and foot. See that two guards are placed with his constantly. I want no more chances that he escapes.”

Outwardly, Raleigh watches impassively as Chuck is hauled to his feet and the cultists rush to obey Mills commands. Inwardly, he hides a wince and his consternation at the news. Mills’ increased surveillance will make it difficult to get Chuck free from these people before they reach San Francisco. He wonders again whether it would have been better to let Chuck run for it, to take his chances getting to the woods. But he remembers the confident way the shooter had handled her rifle and the rush of air of a bullet just missing him. There’s no way Chuck would have made it. At least now, he’s alive and not shot. There’s still a chance to get him out.

Raleigh makes a move to follow Chuck, but Mills gestures for him to say. Raleigh stops moving and waits, tense. Mills waits for Chuck to be gone and gestures for the others to leave. Most fade back among the cars. The shooter heads back towards her arboreal post. Several of the hard men and women stay. Raleigh recognizes some of them — Travis Walter, wanted in connection with the bombing of plant that builds the helicopters used to transport Jaegers to long-range drops; Marie Valesquez, wanted for the attempted assassination of a U.S. senator who sponsored the initial initiative for the Jaeger program in the US; Chris Smith, wanted for his part in organizing a violent, anti-Jaeger riot at the Alaskan build site for the Wall of Life program (which Raleigh thought was the stupidest, most ineffective plan against the Kaiju… ever). These men and women weren’t afraid of violence and wouldn’t hesitate to mete it out against whoever they felt needed to receive it.

Raleigh hoped they weren’t here to mete out violence against him.

He felt instantly relieved when Mills turned back to him with a smile on his face.

“I just wanted to congratulate you on your excellent work,” Mills says.

 Raleigh nods cautiously, then shrugged. “I regret that he got away on my watch,” he says. “I had to get him back.”

Mills nods and his face darkens. “Yes,” he says, “his escape was… unfortunate.”

“I’m sorry for Earl’s loss,” he says, projecting genuine sympathy, even though he’s not at all sorry for Earl’s death. Earl was a monster of the worst kind. Raleigh is happy that he’s gone.

“I too am sorry for Earl’s loss,” Mills says. “He was a true devotee.”

Raleigh nods but says nothing.

Mills shakes himself from his thoughts and smiles, though the expression looks forced. “We will not dwell on our loss,” he says, “though we will take the time to mourn later. For now, we must concentrate on bringing our sacrifice to the coming gods.” His gaze sharpens. “He must not be allowed to escape again.”

Raleigh nods. “I won’t let him surprise me again,” he says.

“I am confident that you won’t,” Mills says, “but this child is more intelligent and tenacious than we gave him credit for. We’d thought him broken before you joined us. We will keep guards on him to ensure he is not able to get free again. You seem to have brought the spirit out in him, Mr. Becket,” he says, the smiles when he sees Raleigh wince. “No, it is good,” he says. “Yes, I think our gods would much prefer to break his wildness themselves. It is better this way, than to give them something pliant and broken.”

Laughing, he turns away and rejoins his waiting followers. The group disappears rapidly into the maze of vehicles and the falling darkness. Raleigh takes a quiet moment to just breathe and appreciate the close call they’ve just had.

And then, to worry about whether he’ll be able to get Chuck out now that Mills’ guard has been raised and the surveillance is being tightened.

He lets himself have only a few moments of despaired contemplation before he pulls himself together.

He has a job to do.

 

* * *

 

 

It turns out exactly as Raleigh feared it would. Mills’ guards stay close, crowding into the back of the van with Chuck and Raleigh as they convoy gets underway the next day. Carl has replaced Earl as the van’s driver. He speaks softly but sparsely, but he has always been a quiet man so that doesn’t surprise Raleigh. What does surprise Raleigh is the strength of the glare he levels at Chuck whenever the teenager is in his eye line.

He guesses that the glare is about the loss of Earl, but is surprised, since he didn’t think Carl and Earl liked each other. Raleigh asks Carl about it when the convoy stops for lunch, and Carl’s response makes Raleigh re-evaluate the man.

“No, I didn’t like him,” Carl says. “Not many people did. He was a brute and a cruel man. But he was loyal. He was loyal to our Shepherd and devoted to our cause and our gods. And he was taken from us by a blasphemous child who murders our gods.”

He pauses, staring into the distance. Raleigh watches him, much more warily now. Carl’s quiet exterior had hidden the depth of his devotion and fanaticism — the kind of fanaticism that could get extremely dangerous for Raleigh and Chuck.

“I will rejoice when the child traitor is sacrificed to our gods,” Carl says after a moment’s pause. “I will rejoice when his blood is spilled and I will rejoice when the gods take his sacrifice as a sign of our devotion.”

He glances sidelong at Raleigh and smiles a secretive, crazed smile.

“Do you know that I have been watching his punishment?” he asks.

Raleigh shakes his head.

“Yes,” Carl says, “watching it and filming it. The Shepherd said it was not necessary, but I wanted the other blasphemers to see their fate.

Raleigh furrows his brow in confusion. “How would—“ he starts.

“How would they see?” Carl interrupts. “Because I have shown them. I have sent them the video of this child’s punishment. As I will send them the video of his death. They will see his sacrifice and tremble in fear. Perhaps his blood will be the spur they need to look to their own souls.”

Raleigh swallows harshly, feeling horror steal through his body and bile rise in his throat.

“You sent tapes of the… punishment … to the PPDC?” he asks.

Carl glances sidelong at him. “You do not approve,” he says. “The Shepherd did not think it was necessary, but the Shepherd does not always see that the rest of the world must be _made_ to repent.” He pauses and sighs. “I wish I could have seen their faces when they saw how the child was punished for his sin. I can only imagine their expressions.”

Raleigh can imagine it too. He can imagine the rage that would steal across Herc Hansen’s face like a thundercloud, watching his son beaten, tortured, and… Raleigh shies away from what else he might have seen on those videos. He can imagine Marshall Pentecost, strong and proud. How the attack on one of his pilots would make his face go tense and blank. Raleigh might hate the man for how he handled Raleigh after Yancy’s death, but he won’t deny that the Marshall cares for his pilots. He can imagine the way the PPDC would react to those images, the images of Chuck’s torture at the hands of the Songs of Blue. And he can imagine the explosive reaction to a video of Chuck’s death, if Raleigh fails.

 _Oh hell_ , he thinks. _This is going to be bad._

* * *

 

 

The day marches into the afternoon and though Raleigh remains tense and hyperaware, he hasn’t found any opportunity to get himself and Chuck away from the cult. The guards stay too close, too alert. Chuck is bound hand and foot again, and the guards have taken to casually pushing him, hitting him, and letting him slam against the walls and floor of the van. They’ve also refused to feed him more than a few sips of water and a piece of bread all day.

“He’s going to die tonight anyways,” one guard says when Raleigh asks. “No use wasting good food on him now.”

As afternoon passes into early evening and the sun begins to creep towards the horizon again, Raleigh begins to genuinely worry. There’s a palpable air of excitement throughout the convoy and the signs on the road show it’s only a few hours’ drive to San Francisco. As they leave what Carl tells Raleigh will be the last stop before they reach the pier, Raleigh quietly despairs of getting them out of there in one piece.

And hours later, as San Francisco looms large through the front windshield, Raleigh says a few prayers to a God he no longer believes in to give him something, some way, any way, to get out of this alive.

 

* * *

 

 

A shiver of excitement races through the convoy as they enter the borders of San Francisco and head towards the waterfront. Every car they pass is headed in the opposite direction, heading out of the city, and as soon as they turn on the radio, they find out the reason why.

_“--urged to evacuate inland as quickly as possible. To repeat for those of you who just tuned in, the PPDC has confirmed that a category 3 Kaiju codenamed Ironclaw has emerged from the Breach and is making its way towards San Francisco. The Jaeger Nova Hyperion is moving to intercept at the Miracle Mile. Should Nova Hyperion fall, Ironclaw is expected to make landfall by 9:00 p.m. Residents are urged to head immediately to the public Kaiju shelters or evacuate the city.”_

The mood in the van is jubilant. A Kaiju is coming at it looks like the Songs of Blue will get the chance to complete their sacrifice. Raleigh is significantly less happy. They’re already in San Francisco, and he’s no closer to saving Chuck than he was two days ago.

Worse, they now have confirmation that a Kaiju is coming. There was a not-insignificant part of Raleigh that was convinced that Mills was just dreaming the desperate dream of the fanatic. That there would be no Kaiju today.

But Mills was right. His information was right.

And that scares Raleigh more than the Kaiju, because Mills knew before anyone else. His “source” in the PPDC knew before anyone else, which means that source must be close to some very critical information.

Suddenly, Raleigh worries that this operation is going to be a lot more dangerous and have a lot bigger web than just rescuing one kidnapped Jaeger pilot. He worries that all the work he’s done to eliminate the PPDC’s enemies on the outside will count for nothing when the traitors behind the steel walls show their true colours.


	4. Sacrifice and Aftermath

* * *

 

 

 

They transfer onto a boat as the sun hangs low in the sky, a few hours to darkness. The summer weather is a boon because it gives them more hours of daylight.

Raleigh hopes for a last minute reprieve, for a way out to appear before him or for Patrick to ride in with the cavalry. It doesn’t happen. He knows Patrick must be close, must have been tracking them for days (unless the GPS is no longer functioning, which Raleigh refuses to consider). Patrick must be close. But Raleigh knows that organizing a raid is difficult, especially when Patrick has to fight the lead Homeland Security agent on the case, who Raleigh thinks would be perfectly happy to see Chuck die for the sole reason that it would give him more ammunition against Mills.

Raleigh knows that Patrick is coming. He just doesn’t know when or if he’ll get here on time.

Most of the convoy spreads out along the dock behind them as Mills and his closest followers load Chuck onto the sleek, double-deck yacht tied to the dock.

As the last of the men load onto the yacht and Carl motions for Raleigh to join them, Raleigh looks around on final time. There’s no last minute reprieve coming. He blows out a breath, prays that Patrick will catch up to them on the water (before Raleigh has to do something stupidly dangerous), and walks onto the boat.

It feels like stepping into his own grave, like those were his last moments on Earth.

The boats engine starts up with a low roar, Carl and two other men slip the lines free, and the boat slips free of the dock, making for open sea.

Raleigh watches the dock as it slips out of sight and hopes for a miracle. When land is no longer in sight, Raleigh goes to head down into the yacht’s cabin to sit with Chuck. Mills stops him with a hand on his chest at the cabin door.

“No Raleigh,” he says.

Raleigh opens his mouth to protest and Mills hushes him.

“You have done much for our cause,” he says, “but only those blooded into our brotherhood can prepare and carry out the sacrifice. We have allowed you to be present, but we cannot allow you to participate.” Mills sees Raleigh’s frown and mutinous expression and places a hand on Raleigh’s shoulder. “We know you are devoted to us,” he says, “but you bear the blood of our gods on your hands. We will not have the sacrifice tainted.”

“I have repented,” Raleigh says urgently.

Mills nods. “I know you have,” he says, “but you have not been cleansed. Once the sacrifice is done, you will be cleansed and become truly one of us.” He turns to go back into the cabin, pauses, and turns back to Raleigh.

“Stay here, Mr. Becket,” he orders, and waits until Raleigh nods before allowing his expression to soften.

“It will be alright,” he says. “You have a role to play in this. You must be patient.”

Raleigh nods reluctantly and lets Carl guide him to one of the benches at the back of the yacht. He takes a deep breath, settles back on the padded bench, and turns to stare out at the horizon. He won’t let anyone see his nerves and his intense fear that the situation is spinning out beyond his control.

 

* * *

 

 

Several hours later, the boat begins to slow and Raleigh is jerked from his desperate searching of the horizon. No Kaiju, yet, but also no FBI or Coast Guard. At this point, he’ll be happy with a helicopter crew from the San Francisco Shatterdome. Or even a fishing trawler. Anything.

“We’re here,” Carl says, coming up to his side.

Raleigh nods and stands, stretching out his stiff limbs. He glances around and sees nothing but open ocean in every direction.

“What’s so special about this spot?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Mills says, coming out from the yacht’s cabin. “It was chosen as virgin space that we may mark it with our sacrifice.”

Raleigh swallows. “When?” he asks.

“Not long now,” Mills says, his eyes alight. He gazes out towards the horizon, away from the shoreline.

“The Kaiju will come,” he says. “And when he arrives we will gift him with our sacrifice.”

He turns to one of the other men on the boat. “Bring out the child,” he says.

The man nods and heads back into the boat.

What feels like hours later, but is likely only a few minutes, the two men are guiding Chuck through the door of the yacht. The transformation the teenager has undergone is remarkable. He’s been cleaned, his injuries bandaged, and he’s been redressed in a pair lose-fitting white pants and a thin white t-shirt, and nothing else. Though it’s summer, the temperature is cold out on the water, and Raleigh shivers in sympathy.

Chuck doesn’t seem to notice the cold though. He sways where he stands, completely unbound. Raleigh peers closer and sees that his eyes are glassy and unfocused.

“Is he… drugged?” he asks cautiously.

Mills nods. “It is for the best,” he says. “Don’t worry. The drug will be mostly worn off by the time our gods and the time of sacrifice arrive. We must have the child’s spirit and fire in our sacrifice. This is merely to keep him… compliant… until his time comes.”

Raleigh blows out a breath, feeling relieved, but still nervous about Chuck’s glassy stare and blank expression.

Mills motions to the guards, and they nudge Chuck over to the side of the boat. Under Mills’ firm glare, Raleigh stays out of Chuck’s space, though he’s itching to go over and thoroughly check the other pilot for any new damage.

Mills gives the two guards instructions, voice soft and carried away by the faint breeze before Raleigh can hear what he’s saying. Mills leaves the group standing on the deck and goes back inside the yacht. An uncomfortable stillness falls.

Raleigh keeps part of his attention on Chuck, swaying slightly between the two guards. His eyes flick constantly over the horizon, searching for any sign of movement. There is nothing.

A burst of excited noise from inside the cabin draws Raleigh’s attention away from the ocean horizon. Mills steps through the door a moment later, his face alight.

“Our god is coming,” he says. “He will be here in mere minutes. Prepare the sacrifice!”

Raleigh takes one last look across the horizon, praying to see the shape of an FBI or Coast Guard boat or chopper, but none are in sight. The only thing he can see, far in the distance, is a dark shape churning up the water and moving steadily closer.

The Kaiju.

_Time’s up_ , Raleigh thinks.

He turns back towards the group on the boat. One of the guards is binding Chuck’s hands in front of him. Another two have taken hold of his arms. The drugs have obviously begun to wear off. Chuck is blinking rapidly and shaking his head, as if coming out of deep sleep or great fog.

Mills is sitting against the wall of the cabin and sharpening a very large knife.

The guard finishes tying chuck’s hands and steps back and Raleigh approaches steadily. He firmly and deliberately jostles the man on Chuck’s right, making him lose his grip on the teenager.

“Hey! What the—“ the man says as he takes a stumbling step away from Chuck.

Mills glances up and makes and questioning, stern face at Raleigh.

“Raleigh,” he starts, but Raleigh isn’t listening.

He closes one hand around Chuck’s arm and pulls him back sharply. The guard on the other side is caught off balance and Raleigh catches him across the face with a powerful right hook, sending him spinning away with blood pouring from his nose.

There’s a burst of confused noise from the rest of the group as Raleigh drags Chuck towards the back of the boat, shoving the teenager protectively behind him. The men are shouting angrily, voices overlapping as they reach for weapons. Raleigh wishes desperately for the FBI issue sidearm he’d qualified on but hasn’t ever been able to carry, and angles his body so that he’s firmly between Chuck and the cult.

Mills steps through the crowd then, his face tight and angry.

“What, exactly, do you think you are doing, Mr. Becket?” he asks softly.

He has the kind of voice that makes men shiver when he’s angry, but Raleigh has faced down Kaiju and Marshall Pentecost. He’s not easily intimidated.

“My job,” he says.

“Your job?” Mills says. “Your _job_ is to bear witness to this sacrifice and truly become one of our family. Or did you forget that?”

Raleigh shakes his head. Behind him, he can feel Chuck shivering, whether from cold or fear or a combination of both, as he presses against Raleigh’s back.

“That’s not my job,” Raleigh says softly.

Mills spreads his hands. “Then please. Enlighten me. What is your job?”

“To keep you from killing Chuck Hansen,” Raleigh says. “To keep you from killing anyone.” He’s probably only minutes away from death, but the reveal, the moment when the criminal realizes he’s let an FBI agent close enough to destroy him… this is the moment he’s been anticipating for two long years. “That’s been my job from the beginning,” he says. “To get close. To become trusted. To become family. To be close enough to know your plans, your tactics, your members, your location… and to make sure you _never_ get the chance to hurt anyone. Especially not the men and women of the Jaeger program.” He smiles viciously. “I work for the FBI.”

Mills face twists into an ugly mask. “It was a _lie_ ,” he spits. “Your story about your journey to the truth. Your repentance. It was all a lie.”

“Yes,” Raleigh says. “Every word.”

“You were never one of us,” Mills says darkly.

“Not for a single, solitary minute,” Raleigh says.

Mills breathes harshly and glares at Raleigh. For a few moments, there is silence and stillness on the boat. Then Mills’ face twists with rage.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “Now you’re just going to die with him.”

He brandishes the knife and steps towards Raleigh, but is pushed aside by Carl, stepping forward with a gun shaking in his hands.

“You blasphemer!” he shouts and his fingers tighten on the trigger.

Then everything explodes into chaos. There’s a roar of sound as the Kaiju surfaces only a few hundred feet from the boat. The water churns tossing the boat like a cork. Everyone on board is shouting, but the sound is drowned under a great foghorn blast of sound. The waves spin the boat around and Raleigh sees the Nova Hyperion striding forwards through the water.

He smiles wildly and that smile turns into an outright grin when he hears the sound of a loudspeaker under the roar of the giants above them.

“—FBI! You are under arrest! Place the weapons on the ground and put your hands in the air!”

It’s Patrick.

Raleigh wants to throw his hands in the air and do a little bit of a victory dance. They’re not out of the woods yet, but they’re a hell of a lot better than they were two minutes ago.

“Blasphemer! Betrayer!”

Raleigh’s attention snaps back to the boat where Carl is getting shakily to his feet, the gun clenched in his hands. He raises the weapon, pointing at Raleigh and Chuck and Raleigh thinks _Oh shit_. The FBI boat isn’t in a position to get off a good shot of their own and Carl’s fingers are tightening on the trigger.

Raleigh makes a split second decision, twisting to grab Chuck around the waist and shove them towards the edge of the boat. He hears the explosive discharge of the gunshot and feels an agonizing stab of pain in his back just as he flips them over the back railing of the boat.

The cold waters of the Pacific hit him like a hammer and darkness creeps in at the edges of his vision. He fights for consciousness, holding Chuck against his chest to keep them both out of the water.

He’s so focused on staying afloat, on staying _conscious_ , that he barely notices the hands pulling them out of the water until someone tries to take Chuck from his grasp. He lets out a wordless, rasping cry and tightens his grip, lashing out with his legs.

“Raleigh! Raleigh, it’s okay! You can let go now! We’ve got you.”

Patrick.

_Safe._

Raleigh lets go and slides into unconsciousness.

 

* * *

 

 

Patrick breathes a deep and heartfelt sigh of relief when his agents pull Raleigh and Ranger Hansen out of the cold Pacific waters. Both are dazed and shivering, but they’re alive. Agent Matthews tries to pull Hansen from Raleigh’s hold to get the teenager medical attention and barely avoids getting kicked in the face when Raleigh lashes out. Matthews stumbles backwards in shock and Patrick darts in before any serious damage is done.

“Raleigh!” he shouts. “Raleigh, it’s okay! You can let go now! We’ve got you.”

Raleigh blinks dazedly at him, then his grip loosens and his eyes slide closed.

Agent Matthews and one of the Coast Guard medics make quick work dragging Chuck from Raleigh’s hold and bundling the teenager into thermal blankets.

It’s only when Chuck is out of the way that they can see the pool of blood growing under Raleigh’s back, turning pink as it mingles with the water on the deck.

“Jesus Christ,” another medic curses and darts forward. They roll Raleigh onto his front, frantically finding the hole in the middle of his back. The medic starts shouting for gauze pads, and more hands are darting in to help.

Patrick wants to be in there, but Commander Erikson is dragging his attention away with a firm, insistent tugging on his arm. He snaps his attention to the commander, ready to berate the man for distracting him, when he follows the direction of the man’s gaze and sees what the urgency is about.

The loud thunder in his ears is the sound of a Kaiju and a Jaeger slamming into each other. The two behemoths are only a few hundred feet from the boat, grappling and striking each other.

“We have to get out of here!” Commander Erikson shouts, just as Nova Hyperion deals a powerful blow that sends Ironclaw sprawling backwards and smashing into the Songs of Blue yacht. The yacht vanishes beneath the water in an explosion of fire and flying debris.

“Yeah,” Patrick says. He turns to meet Erikson’s eyes. “Get us the hell out of here.”

The Commander nods and darts into the boat’s pilot house.

Moments later the boat’s engines lurch into high gear and the boat heaves into motion away from the battle. Patrick watches the battling monsters grow smaller in the distance, hands gripping the railing tightly, until he can barely see them, then turns back to the deck.

Raleigh, Hansen and most of the agents have moved inside. Patrick takes a deep breath and follows them in. He hears the sound of loud, urgent voices, deeper in the ship but makes himself turn away from them and towards the communication station. Patrick gathers himself, settles his impassive mask, then starts making calls to their ground support, the nearest ER, and his bosses.

It’s time to see what they can salvage from this shit show.

 

* * *

 

 

Chuck knows he’s in a medical facility the minute he wakes up to the unmistakable smell of disinfectant and the feel of scratchy sheets against his skin. It takes him a minute to force his eyes open, and then he has to blink slowly at the worn tile ceiling for a few more minutes before he has the energy to do anything else.

Slowly, awareness begins to trickle back.

His entire body aches, but in the dull, distant way that tells him he’s getting some very good drugs right now. The worst aches are in his hand and his head. He rolls his head gently to one side and sees that his broken hand has been bandaged and encased in some kind of metal splint. He wonders why there isn’t a cast, but lets the thought go and resolves to ask a doctor later.

There’s a heaviness in his other hand as well, but he can’t remember taking any damage to it.

He rolls his head in the other direction and sees that the heaviness is caused by his dad. Herc is sprawled half on the narrow hospital bed mattress, his head resting on Chuck’s forearm and gripping Chuck’s hand tightly in his.

Chuck takes a deep breath and blinks ferociously to get rid of the tears that are threatening.

His father is here.

For the first time since he was kidnapped from a dingy Anchorage bar (that he was definitely too young to be in) Chuck feels _safe_.

He’s never been good with emotions, so he blinks away his tears, swallows down the lump in his throat, puts on his cocky face, and gives his father’s sleeping face a hard nudge with his elbow.

Herc jerks awake with a startled curse and looks around wildly to see what woke him. Chuck waits patiently until Herc’s gaze flits to his face, then says “Hey old man.”

His voice comes out soft and raspy, and just saying three words makes him feel like his throat is on fire, but it’s worth it to see the dawning wonder and joy on his father’s face.

“Chuck,” his father breathes, reaching forward to brush Chuck’s face with shaking fingers. “You’re awake.”

“Yeah,” Chucks rasps, then winces and coughs as that one word sets his throat on fire.

Herc surges out of his chair and rushes to pour Chuck a glass of water from the pitcher beside the bed. His hand shakes and water slops onto the tray, but Herc ignores the mess. He helps a still coughing Chuck sit up and gently sip from the glass of water.

“Easy,” he says softly as Chuck greedily gulps down the soothing liquid. Chuck forces himself to sip slowly, lest the water be taken away from him. Herc lets him finish the glass and sets it, empty, back on the bedside table, but doesn’t move from his position sitting at the edge of Chuck’s bed.

He hasn’t let go of Chuck either and gently draws the teenager into a hug.

Chuck and his father aren’t normally the hugging sort, but Chuck doesn’t object. He curls his unbroken arm, also the one without the IVs, around his father’s back and tucks his head into Herc’s shoulder and just clings. He feels trembling and hears the sound of muffled tears and thinks that it’s him, that he’s broken down crying, but his cheeks are dry and his collar is getting wet.

It’s Herc, crying on his son’s shoulder.

Chuck feels his own eyes get wet and simply holds his father tighter.

He’s alive, his father is here, he’s safe. He survived.

He thinks they’ve both earned the chance for a little breakdown.

They stay curled together for several minutes, both cherishing the chance to be together, to cling to someone you love.

Finally, Herc eases away and wipes his reddened eyes and tear-streaked cheeks with one sleeve.

“Didn’t mean to cry on you kid,” he says roughly.

Chuck laughs wetly. “Neither did I, old man,” he says.

Herc smiles back and doesn’t make his typical objection to the term “old man.”

“How are you feeling?” he asks instead.

Chuck shrugs, careful not to jostle his broken hand or his fragile ribs, but unable to avoid the slight wince of pain that even that slight movement causes.

“I feel… alive,” he finally settles on.

Herc snorts and smiles. “And I’m very glad of that,” he says, voice shaking a little. “So incredibly glad.”

Chuck swallows and clears his throat, looking away from his father.

“How long since I…?” he asks.

“How long were you gone?” Herc says. “Or how long since you were rescued?”

“Both,” Chuck says, meeting Herc eyes.

Herc sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair. “You were… taken… almost four weeks ago,” he says. Chuck suspects he knows the exact number, down to the hour.

“You were rescued three days ago,” Herc continues.

“Three days?!” Chuck says, alarmed. He tries to sit up but Herc pushes him back against the pillows.

“Yes,” he says, “three days.”

“But… what…”

“You had a skull fracture, Chuck,” Herc says gently. “The doctors said you’d been bleeding into your brain for days. That if… that if you’d gotten here much later you might have been dead.”

Chuck swallows. “I don’t remember…” he starts and trails off because _he does_ remember.

He remembers the sharp pain when those cultist assholes had thrown him in the back of the van. He remembers being unconscious for what felt like a long time, and that headache that had persisted when he woke up. He remembers Raleigh Becket’s large hands holding his chin and shining a light in his eyes. He remembers Raleigh Becket’s concerned face and soft voice telling him that it was as bad as it could possibly get.

He swallows harshly and has to breathe deeply to fight down the nausea.

He hadn’t… he hadn’t thought it was that bad. The headache was just one more pain in a body full of injuries. Becket’s concern was just one more technique the cult was using to try and break him.

Except… Becket’s concern had been genuine. Even when Chuck hadn’t trusted him, had hated him, his concern had been genuine.

Chuck was still a little hazy on the last few days of his captivity, and those last hours on the boat were blurry at best, but he remembers Becket stepping in front of him, refusing to back down, telling a man with a knife that Chuck wasn’t going to die. He remembers the way Becket had held him above the water, had fought to protect him.

And he thinks maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t been wrong to have Raleigh Becket as his childhood hero.

“Chuck?” Herc’s voice shakes Chuck from his musings and he glances up to meet his father’s concerned gaze.

“Sorry,” he says. “Just… thinking.”

Herc’s face creases with concern.

“Thinking about…?” he says leadingly.

Chuck ignores the question. He’s not ready to talk about this yet.

“What happened?” he asks. “On the boat?”

Herc sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Honestly,” he says, sounding frustrated, “you probably know more about it than I do.”

He sees Chuck’s incredulous expression and gives him a wry grin. “I’m not kidding,” he says. “No one’s told me anything, except that you were retrieved from those cult bastards and rushed to the hospital.”

“Nothing else?” Chuck presses.

Herc shakes his head. “I’ve been trying to get answers, but… well…” He shrugs ruefully and glances away. “It would take a lot of time and effort and badgering, and I’ve had more important things to worry about.”

Chuck knows his father means him. He ducks his head to hide the blush spreading across his cheeks. Avoiding his father’s gaze, Chuck takes a moment to glance around the hospital room. It’s clean, modern and well-lit by a broad window overlooking a sprawling cityscape. Chuck can see the tall towers of the Memorial Bridge, built three years after Trespasser’s attack on the city, and realizes that he’s still in San Francisco.

Half of his view out the window is blocked by another patient bed, though Chuck can’t see who’s in it because heavy curtains are hiding the patient from view.

“So, who am I sharing with?” Chuck asks idly.

Herc shrugs when Chuck meets his gaze. “Right now, no one,” he says. “They’re moving someone in here this afternoon, but they haven’t said who.” He looks unhappy with the news and Chuck can’t blame him. He’s not sure how happy he feels to be sharing a room with a stranger. Not after what he’s been through these past weeks.

He’s saved from making a response, or worrying about who his future roommate will be, when the wide door of the hospital room is shoved open and several orderlies wheel in a second hospital bed.

_Guess I won’t have to wait_ , Chuck thinks.

The orderlies’ broad backs and shoulders block Chuck’s view of the new patient as they wheel him in, whisk back the curtain, and maneuver the bed into place by the window. He watches the bustling with absent curiosity. The orderlies and nurses hook the man up to a pulse monitor and maneuver an IV into place. The man doesn’t seem to be attached to any of the more serious machinery, so Chuck guesses that that means they aren’t worried about him keeling over and dying at any moment.

The orderlies and nurses leave one by one, until only a white-coated doctor is left, checking the monitors and leads. When the doctor moves to the ends of the man’s bed to write something on his chart, Chuck finally sees the face of his new roommate.

It’s a face Chuck recognizes.

“Raleigh Becket,” he says, shocked, remembering how that face had been soft and kind when he bandaged Chuck’s injuries. Remembering how it had gone firm and stubborn when he stepped between Chuck and the knife.

“What?” he dad exclaims, head snapping around to look at the other man. “What the hell?”

The doctor glances over and notices that Chuck is awake. He smiles, distracted, and heads over to Chuck’s bed.

“Ah,” he says. “You’ve woken up.”

_Duh, obviously_ , Chuck thinks, but bites his tongue

Herc’s side-eyed expression tells Chuck that his dad was expecting one of Chuck’s sarcastic remarks. But weeks of torture have taught Chuck that back-talk brings pain. He won’t stop the sarcasm and the talking and saying what’s on his mind. He’s not broken enough for that.

He won’t let himself be broken enough for that.

But, he thinks, he might have finally learned the value of his father’s oft-repeated maxim “There’s a time and a place.”

He doesn’t think he’s going to tell his dad that though. This whole disaster has already made Herc crazy enough. Chuck doesn’t want to add to that.

“—you feeling?”

Chuck tunes back in to his surroundings and realizes that the doctor has asked him a question.

“Sorry, what?” he says.

The doctor frowns. “I asked how you were feeling,” he says, frowning. He pulls out a penlight and leans over to flash it in Chuck’s eyes. “Any pain? Headaches?”

Chuck winces and ducks his head away from the light. “Not ‘til ya shone that thing in my eye,” he grumbles.

The doctor snags Chuck’s chart and starts flipping through it. “Any blurred vision? Dark spots?” He pauses and peers intently at Chuck. “Lapses in concentration?”

Chuck refrains from rolling his eyes. “I’m fine,” he says. When the doctor looks skeptical, he says, “No really. Considering what the last few weeks have been like, I feel fine.”

The doctor nods slowly, looking like he’s not quite all the way to accepting Chuck’s assertions.

He steps forwards and does a quick exam, standard procedure for a patient who’s just woken from a several days coma, and Chuck puts up with it with ill grace.

The aggravation is worth it though, to see the relief on his father’s face when the doctor steps back and proclaims that Chuck appears to be fine, though they’ll continue to monitor him for several days to be sure.

Chuck sighs at the thought of being stuck in the hospital for much longer but subsides at a quelling glare from his father.

“Now,” the doctor says, “I want you to rest as much as possible. I know, I know, you don’t want to be stuck in bed,” he says, seeing Chuck’s mutinous expression, “but your body needs time and to heal, and the best way to give it that is to stay in bed, sleep, and eat.”

Chuck nods grudgingly. He knows that forced bed rest will drive him crazy, but he doesn’t want to admit that right now, that sounds like a great idea.

The doctor peers suspiciously at him, studying him and judging his sincerity, before finally nodding.

“If there are no further questions for me…”

“Actually,” Chuck says, “I have a question.”

The doctor nods for him to go ahead.

“What happened to him? Becket. My roommate,” he says, tipping his head to one side to indicate the other pilot laying limp on the second bed.

“He was shot. In an FBI raid,” the doctor says. “I’m sorry, I don’t know much more than that. Both of your cases are considered confidential, and I’m only filling in for your regular doctor, Dr. Heron, for a few hours.” He shrugs. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He turns away from the Hansens and strides out of the room.

Both Hansens sit in stunned silence for a moment. Chuck dredges through his memory, trying to drag his floaty, fragmented recollections of those last hours on the boat into a clearer picture. He remembers Raleigh stepping between him and the knife. He remembers the roar of the Kaiju rising out of the water. He remembers the feel of Raleigh’s arms around his waist as he threw them overboard.

He doesn’t remember a gunshot, but in the confusion he admits he might have missed it.

He was also drugged out of his mind, he thinks ruefully, so his recollections are bound to be a little spotty.

“Shot. In an FBI raid.” His dad’s angry voice drags him back to the present. Herc is glaring across the room at Becket’s slack face.

He turns to Chuck.

“Was he there?” Herc says, his voice shaking with anger. “Was that traitor involved in… Chuck, was he there?”

“Yes, but—“

“I’m going to kill him,” his dad says, shoving to his feet and glaring at the form of the older pilot.

Chuck sees the rage on his dad’s face and panics.

“No!” he says, reaching for his dad and catching his wrist. Herc looks murderous and like he’s about to charge across the room and beat Raleigh to death with his IV pole.

“He saved my life,” Chuck says urgently. “He saved my life.”

Chuck tries to tug him back into his seat, but his dad still looks murderous.

“He’s a God-damned traitor,” Herc growls, taking a step away from Chuck.

“Watch your mouth when you’re talking about one of my people,” says a sharp voice from behind his dad.

Herc spins and shifts out of the way slightly, letting Chuck see the speaker. Standing in the doorway of the hospital room is a slender man in jeans, Kevlar, and a button-down shirt. He’s flanked by two men wearing identical black suits, one at each shoulder. The man steps forwards and Chuck can see the letters “FBI” stamped on the badge hanging around his neck.

“Your people?” his dad says aggressively. “Who the hell are you?”

He smirks at Herc and says, “Special Agent Patrick Boyer, FBI.” He taps his badge for emphasis.

Chuck can see his dad back down, but the old man still looks a little belligerent.

“And Raleigh Becket is one of your people?” he asks. “One of your criminals?”

Boyer lets out a sharp bark of laughter.

“Hardly,” he says. “Agent Raleigh Becket is one of my best undercover operatives.”

Chuck and Herc both stare incredulously at Boyer.

“Agent…? What?!” Herc finally exclaims. “What the hell are you talking about? Raleigh Becket is a Kaiju worshipping traitor.”

Boyer snorts and shakes his head. He gestures with one hand, and his matching suited bookends break away. One turns to stand guard at the hospital room door, and the other crosses the room to stand forebodingly at the end of Becket’s bed.

Boyer finally turns back to Chuck and Herc. “Raleigh Becket is not a traitor,” he says, “and he never was.” He raises a hand to forestall Herc’s protests. “He never was,” he insists. “I brought Raleigh into the Bureau almost two years ago. He came to us with information about a disgruntled group of anti-Jaeger activists who were planning to bomb the Anchorage Shatterdome. It turned out that Raleigh was a terribly effective undercover agent so we ran with it, and he’s spent the last two years saving your asses.” He says the last part harshly, glaring at Herc. “Not that he got any thanks for it.”

Herc snorts. “That’s not what it looked like from where I’m sitting.”

“Of course not,” Boyer says dismissively. “He wouldn’t have been very good at his job if there was any suspicion that he hadn’t converted wholeheartedly to the Kaiju worshipping movement.”

Herc looks like he wants to say more, but Chuck breaks in first.

“So,” he says tentatively, “Raleigh never worshipped the Kaiju.”

“No kid,” Boyer says gently. “Raleigh hates the Kaiju.”

“And… you said he’s been saving us?”

Boyer nods. “He’s spent two years infiltrating Kaiju worshipping cults and anti-Jaeger terror groups, helping us take them down and derail their plots before they succeed.”

Herc snorts distrustfully. “I don’t know,” he says. “There have been a lot of close calls these last few years.”

“Exactly. Close calls. _Failures_. Not successes.” He raises an eyebrow at them. “Who do you think was responsible for keeping them from being successes?”

Chuck glances unconsciously over at Becket.

“Do you… Do you believe this, Chuck?” Herc asks, sounding astounded. “Becket was involved in your kidnapping, your torture, and you actually believe he’s one of the good guys?”

Chuck bites his lip. The part of him that was devastated when Becket left the program and joined the cults and the part of him that was sucker-punched to see Becket standing with his torturers want to say “no.” To vehemently deny that he could have been wrong, that Becket could have been on their side all along.

And the reason those voices are so strong is that part of Chuck that has hero-worshipped the Becket Boys and Gipsy Danger since childhood. That _wants_ to believe that Raleigh Becket would never turn his back on them… on Chuck.

That’s the part the lets him think.

That lets him remember every moment of his interactions with Raleigh in the last few days. That lets him remember how Becket was, unfailingly, kind at every turn. He’d never hit Chuck, even when Chuck had given him every provocation. He’d fed Chuck, treated his injuries, and given him back the dignity of a private bathroom break. He’d treated Chuck like a human.

And he’d protected Chuck. He’d convinced the cult to stop beating Chuck, he’d tackled Chuck to the ground to protect him from a bullet, he’d stepped in front of a knife for him.

“Yes,” Chuck says, staring at Raleigh’s slack face. “Yes, I believe.”

He turns and looks at his father. Herc’s face is twisted in fury and his mouth is open to argue.

“I believe,” Chuck says, “because I was there. Raleigh was there. You weren’t. When I needed help, Raleigh was there. When those… monsters… would’ve… Raleigh was there. He protected me. He _saved_ me. When I needed help, Raleigh was there. And you weren’t.”

Herc looks like he’s been sucker-punched. “Chuck,” he says, voice wavering and pained.

Chuck cuts him off with a gesture. “I’m not, I’m not mad. Just… Raleigh saved me. And nearly got himself killed saving me. So yeah, I believe that he was on our side all along.”

He turns back to meet Boyer’s gaze. He looks… impressed. And satisfied.

“Is Raleigh going to be okay?” Chuck asks.

Boyer’s expression falls slightly and he sighs, glancing over at Raleigh’s bed.

“We’re not sure yet,” he says. “This is the second bullet he’s taken in the last six months, and this one was a lot more serious than the last. But, he survived surgery and he’s out of ICU, so…” He shrugs. “Now it’s up to him.”

Chuck nods, throat tight as he gazes at Raleigh’s limp face.

“Do you think he’ll make it?” he asks.

He hears Boyer sigh. “I hope so,” he says.

There’s a muffled moan from the other bed and Chuck’s head snaps in Raleigh’s direction in time to see the other pilot blink slowly back into awareness.

“Patrick?” Raleigh asks, voice slurred.

Boyer is at Raleigh’s side in two strides and leans over the side of the bed to smile down at him.

“Hey Becket Boy,” he says, smiling.

“Hey,” Raleigh says back, his voice sleep-soft. “Did we win?”

“What do you think?” he says, and tips her head towards Chuck.

Raleigh rolls his head sideways and blinks at Chuck, then smiles. It’s that dazzling smile that decorated the magazine covers and posters only a few years earlier, but somehow softer and more real.

“Hey you,” he says.

Chuck can’t help but smile back. “Hey,” he says hoarsely, feeling a bit of a blush stealing across his cheeks and cursing his teenage hormones.

“You okay?” Raleigh asks.

Chuck nods carefully. “Yeah,” he says. “You?”

Raleigh blinks and his face twists in thought. “I think so,” he says finally. “I feel drugged. Very drugged.” He rolls his head back to look at Boyer. “Patrick, am I drugged?” he asks.

“Yeah Becket, you’re drugged,” Boyer says with a fond smile.

“Thought so,” Raleigh says, nodding and looking satisfied.

After a moment’s pause, his face twists back into unhappiness. “Patrick, did we get them? The cult. Did we get them?” he asks.

Boyer nods. “Most of them,” he says.

“Most?” Raleigh asks. “The Shepherd?”

“We didn’t find all the bodies from the boat, and we think some of the ones on the dock may have slipped away during the raid,” Boyer says.

“The Shepherd?” Raleigh asks again.

“Dead.”

“Are you sure?”

Boyer nods. “Absolutely sure. We found his body in the remains of the boat. We think he got crushed by the Kaiju.”

Raleigh grins and snorts with laughter. “The irony,” he says.

Boyer smiles. “He certainly got what he deserved,” he says.

“And… the Kaiju?” Raleigh asks.

“Nova Hyperion kicked its ass,” Boyer says.

“Good,” Raleigh says, nodding. He blinks slowly, obviously fighting to keep his eyes open but having difficulty.

“Patrick?” he says, words slurring.

“Go to sleep Raleigh,” Boyer says.

“Mm’kay,” Raleigh says, settling back into the pillow and letting his eyes fall closed. Moments later his breathing evens out and his body relaxes back into unconsciousness.

Boyer watches him fondly for a moment before turn back to the Hansens, his expression hardening.

“I trust that Raleigh will come to no harm if I leave him to recover here,” he says.

It’s not a question, but Herc and Chuck both nod.

“Are you… not staying?” Chuck asks tentatively.

Boyer sighs. “I would, but I have a cult to finish dismantling,” he says. “Agents Terrence and Wilson will be staying.” He nods to the agent by Raleigh’s bed and the one standing by the door.

He lays a gentle hand on Raleigh’s forehead and sweeps back some of his hair. He casts a lingering look at his sleeping face and for a moment his expression is soft, then he takes his hand away and the hard mask comes back up.

On his way out the door, he stops at the end of Chuck’s bed.

“When you’re ready, Ranger Hansen, we need to take your statement about the last few weeks,” he says.

Chuck swallows and nods carefully. His throat and chest feel tight. He doesn’t know if he can talk about the last few weeks of Hell.

“When you’re ready,” Boyer says gently. He pats Chuck’s ankle and strides out the door.

Chuck shares a long, speaking look with his father, and together they turn to look at Raleigh’s sleeping form. The revelations of the last 20 minutes have been a lot to take in and the one person who can really explain it all, the only one who could provide adequate answers to Chuck’s questions, is unconscious on the other side of the room. So close, and yet incredibly far away.

Herc reaches out to take Chuck’s hand, squeezing gently in reassurance. Despite himself, Chuck can’t help but relax into the feeling of safety his father offers. He yawns and feels his eyes drift closed.

As he slides back into unconsciousness, he feels his father kiss his forehead and whisper, “Sleep well, Chuck.”

 

* * *

 

 

Raleigh first few attempts at consciousness are spotty at best. He remembers those last terrifying minutes on the cult yacht, then the water, then the relief of rescue, of knowing that Patrick was there and could handle it.

After that, things go a bit disjointed. He has hazy memories of waking several times in the hospital, at least once in the ICU with Patrick leaning over him repeating, “It’s okay Raleigh. You’re okay. You’re safe. We got them.”

There are more hazy memories of drugged conversations with his doctors, with Patrick, and at least one where he’s sure Chuck and Herc Hansen were there for. (Chuck was in a bed, a hospital bed like Raleigh’s. Was he okay? For some reason, Raleigh thinks he knows that Chuck is okay.)

When he finally swims back into what feels like real, solid consciousness, everything hurts. He’s lying braced on his side, he assumes to keep pressure of the wound in his back. (He was shot in back. He’s trying not to think about that.)

He blinks dazedly for a few moments, letting his brain come back online before he tries to do any serious thinking.

It takes a while before he realizes that there’s a set of eyes staring right back at him. Raleigh blinks and forces himself to focus and… Herc Hansen is sitting at his bedside, watching him with dark eyes and a smooth, expressionless face.

“Ranger Hansen,” Raleigh says, then winces at the raspy sound and the pain that talking causes him.

“Ranger Becket,” Hansen says.

“Ex,” Raleigh says, wincing from both the pain in his throat and the sharp knife in his heart that acknowledging his abandonment by the PPDC always causes. He winces again and the wince turns into a cough that scrapes his dry throat.

Hansen’s expression softens as Raleigh keeps coughing helplessly. He reaches forwards and offers Raleigh a drink from the plastic cup on the bedside table. Raleigh takes a few sips until he stops coughing, then lets Hansen help him reposition the bed and sink into a semi-upright position. Hansen refills the cup, then holds it steady as Raleigh drinks gratefully.

“Thanks,” he says quietly when the cup is empty.

Hansen settles back in his chair and watches Raleigh. “Seems like I should be the one thanking you,” he says. He twists a little and nods his head across the room. “For Chuck,” he says.

Raleigh glances past Herc’s shoulder and sees Chuck sprawled out asleep in his own hospital bed.

He’d kind of thought that part was a dream.

“Is he okay?” Raleigh asks.

Herc glances back at Chuck then turns back to Raleigh.

“I think… he will be,” he says.

Raleigh nods slowly. “That’s… good,” he says. “That’s, that’s really good. I’m glad.”

Herc studies Raleigh, his gaze shrewd and piercing.

“You really were trying to save him,” Herc says.

Raleigh nods, hesitates, then figures, _what the hell_ , and says, “I was trying to save all of you.”

Herc blinks, looking a little startled.

“So your FBI friend said.” He winces a little. “Very stridently.”

Raleigh smiles a bit. “Yeah,” he says, “Patrick is like that.”

“You’ve… known him for a long time,” Herc says tentatively.

He considers Herc and his question, and thinks about how much he wants to say. Being abandoned by what was left of his family had hurt and dealing with their condemnation of his new life (which Patrick and the FBI psychologist had told him to expect, but he hadn’t really been prepared for) had been hard. On the one hand, he wanted to prove them wrong, for them to _see_ what he’d been doing for years to protect them and be appreciative. On the other hand, be didn’t want to give them enough of an opening to hurt him again.

But, he thinks, looking at Chuck’s pale face and the white bandages wrapped around his head and the mottled bruising on his cheekbones and poking out from under the hospital gown, Herc, at least, deserves to know happened to his son.

“Yeah,” he says, turning his gaze back to Herc, “Patrick and I have known each other for a few years now. He was the one that brought me into this operation in the first place.”

“The operation?” Herc asks.

Raleigh nods. “We’re part of a taskforce investigating and arresting Kaiju worshipping cults and anti-Jaeger terrorist programs.”

Herc blinks. “I’ve heard some noise about that in the last few years, but it’s never really been big on the news.”

“They’ve been keeping it out of the press,” Raleigh says, “as much as they can anyway.”

He sees Herc’s confused look and shrugs, wincing when the movement pulls at the wound on his back.

“We’re trying to keep people from panicking,” he says. “Bad enough that they have to deal with the Kaiju coming through the Breach. Worse that they have to deal with Jaegers actually _losing_ to Kaiju. The last thing we needed was the general public realizing how close some of these cultist and terrorist bastards to doing serious damage to the Jaeger program.”

Herc’s gaze sharpens.

“And how close did they come?” he asks.

Raleigh meets his gaze without flinching.

“Close,” he says. “Very close.”

Herc raises an eyebrow, a silent gesture for Raleigh to elaborate.

Raleigh’s awe and hero-worship of the infamous Herc Hansen has dimmed a little in his years working for the FBI, but he still feels a bit like a pilot candidate back at Kodiak Island getting called to task by one of his trainers.

He sighs. “There were several attempted bombings and assassinations that were… let’s say narrowly avoided.”

He remembers the sick feeling of staring down at a bomb buried deep in the heart of the San Francisco Shatterdome’s nuclear reactor, the seconds ticking away to the explosion, Patrick frantically calm in one ear and the FBI bomb tech in the other as they tried to disarm it, no time left to evacuate the building.

He remembers getting “caught” in Peru by a group of J-Tech engineers and mechanics and beaten into unconsciousness, the commotion providing enough distraction for the FBI to arrest a would-be assassin and a cover to protect Raleigh’s own role in the arrest.

He can see that Herc wants to ask for more information, but he must see something in Raleigh’s expression that gives him pause.

“You’ve saved a lot of lives,” Herc says, looking at Raleigh as if he’s seeing him in a new light.

Raleigh ducks his head uncomfortably and says nothing.

He startles when Herc’s hand covers his own and his gaze snaps up to meet that of the older pilot.

“Thank you,” Herc says. “We owe you.”

Raleigh doesn’t quite know what to do with that. It’s what he’s wanted for years, but he’s not sure how to take it now that he has it. He doesn’t say anything and that doesn’t seem to bother Herc.

The older pilot takes his hand away eventually and they sit quietly together.

 

* * *

 

 

 

> RALEIGH BECKET: A HERO UNMASKED
> 
> by Sarah Tepper
> 
> INVESTIGATIVE REPORTER

>  
> 
>  
> 
> In an astonishing announcement, the FBI has revealed the undercover agent responsible for the large Kaiju-cult bust in history and the dramatic rescue of kidnapped pilot Chuck Hansen last week: former PPDC Ranger Raleigh Becket. For years, the world has thought that Becket, former co-pilot of the Gipsy Danger, betrayed the PPDC and turned away humanity’s fight for survival by joining the Kaiju-worshipping cult Song of Blue. Today, the FBI has revealed that, that Becket, now Special Agent Raleigh Becket of the FBI, was recruited into the bureau specifically to go undercover as part of the bureau’s years-long operation against the Kaiju-worshipping cults.
> 
> The FBI has been close-mouthed about the details of the operation, citing it as an ongoing investigation. What we do know is that last week, years of investigative work culminated in the arrests of dozens of members of the notorious Songs of Blue cult, including their highest ranking members of the cult, many of whom were on America’s Top 10 Most Wanted list. The operation also resulted in the rescue of kidnapped Ranger Chuck Hansen who inside sources tell us was intended as a sacrifice for the Kaiju Ironclaw.
> 
> Supervisory Special Agent Patrick Boyer, the taskforce’s lead investigator, confirmed today that Becket was instrumental in the recent arrests and in Chuck Hansen’s safe recovery.
> 
> “This has been a long, hard process,” Boyer said at a press conference today. “Two years of effort and undercover work have gone into these arrests. We are very proud of the hard work all of our agents have put into this operation and especially grateful to Special Agent Raleigh Becket. Agent Becket has sacrificed two years of his life and endured a long and dangerous undercover operation and the scrutiny and disdain of the public to help bring this cult to justice and safeguard the men and women who protect humanity from monsters.”
> 
> Details of the long operation are still being revealed, but the FBI has confirmed that half-a-dozen serious attacks on the PPDC and the Jaeger Program were narrowly averted in the last few years, with Becket being a key factor in preventing disaster.
> 
> Requests to speak with Agent Becket were denied and the FBI has released a statement confirming that Agent Becket was seriously injured during the recent conclusion of Operation Takedown. They would give no further information about Becket’s condition or location, save to say that he was recovering.
> 
> The Hansens were a little more open. Chuck Hansen confirmed that Becket had been present during his rescue from a cult-owned yacht in the Pacific Ocean. “He stepped in front of a knife meant for me,” the teenage pilot said. “Then took a bullet to protect me.” Chuck Hansen still bears the marks of his ordeal, and nearly a week after the incident is still recovering in PPDC medical facilities.
> 
> Neither Hansen would provide any additional information about Becket’s condition or location, saying that the man deserved to recover in peace. They did confirm that Becket is not in serious condition and is expected to recover from his injuries.
> 
> They were also adamant that Becket is every inch the hero the FBI has proclaimed him to be.
> 
> “Raleigh almost died saving my life,” said Chuck Hansen. “Far as I’m concerned, he’s a hero.”
> 
> His father, Ranger Hercules Hansen, concurs. Responding to protests and disbelief over Becket’s role as an undercover operative, Hansen stated that, “Even if I didn’t believe that Raleigh was one of ours all along, he saved my sons life. I owe him a debt I can never repay. We all owe him a debt. I’ve seen the evidence and I’ve spoken with him. Raleigh Becket is and has always been a hero and a loyal defender of humanity.”
> 
> The response from PPDC personnel to the startling revelation about Becket’s true loyalties has been almost universally positive.
> 
> “I wish we’d known sooner what he’s been doing for us,” said Martin Clearwater, co-pilot for the Jaeger Fighting Fury. “He’s saved all our asses, and we’ve been thinking his a traitor the whole time.”
> 
> Long-time colleagues of Becket were equally regretful. “I worked with Raleigh and his brother for years,” said J-Tech Officer Tendo Choi. “It was hard to believe, when he left the program, that he’d change so much. Knowing now what he’s really spent the last few years doing, I can tell you that he hasn’t changed a bit.”
> 
> While unanswered questions still surround the recent arrests of the Songs of Blue, on thing is clear. Every child, teenager, and adult that looked up to Raleigh Becket as a hero can rest a little easier, knowing their hero is still an adamant protector against the Kaiju and their evil, even if that evil is in human form.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Two days after they release Chuck from the hospital in the care of PPDC Medical and the day before Raleigh himself is due to be released, Raleigh comes back from his afternoon physiotherapy session to find Marshall Stacker Pentecost sitting beside him empty hospital bed.

Under normal circumstances, he would have frozen in the doorway then turned around and walked away once he’d seen what was waiting for him.

These aren’t normal circumstances.

For one, Raleigh is in a wheelchair being pushed around by a nurse and after a grueling hour of physio, he’s not sure he has the energy to stand, never mind walk away.

For another, Raleigh isn’t facing the Marshall as a washout pilot or a Kaiju cultist traitor. Raleigh’s facing him as a hero FBI agent who got shot directly saving the life of one the Marshall’s pilots and whose work saved dozens, maybe hundreds, more.

Raleigh tells himself that he has no reason to be nervous or guilty or defensive and squares his shoulders, ignoring the pain it puts on his still-healing wound.

The nurse wheels him across the room and helps him back into the bed. Raleigh refuses to be embarrassed. Three years ago, the idea of needing someone to help him into bed would have been mortifying. But then Knifehead, and Yancy, and three months recovering alone in an Anchorage hospital happened. And Patrick, the FBI, and the cults happened.

Raleigh has nothing to be embarrassed about.

When he’s settled back into his bed, he finally nods to the Marshall, acknowledging his presence and meeting his gaze.

“Marshall,” he says evenly.

“Mr. Becket,” Pentecost acknowledges.

They stare at each other in silence for a moment and Raleigh is abruptly reminded of his confrontation with Mills what feels like ages ago now. He smiles a little. The Marshall tilts his head in question.

“Something amusing, Mr. Becket,” he asks.

“You remind me of someone,” he says, and ignores the Marshall’s silent request for more information.

“Is there something I can help you with?” he asks.

Pentecost regards him silent and considering.

“I came to see how you were doing,” he says.

Raleigh snorts “It’s a little late for the false sympathy,” he says.

“There is nothing false about my consideration,” Pentecost says. “I apologize for not coming earlier. As you can imagine, these last few weeks have been very busy.”

Raleigh huffs a disbelieving breath. “Cut the crap,” he says. “I know you don’t care all the much about me. You proved _that_ well enough three years ago.”

He cuts the Marshall off with a sharp gesture when the man looks like he’s going to respond.

“I’m not interested in talking about the past,” he says. What he means is _I’m not interested in hearing your excuses_.

“What I want,” he continues, “is for you to tell me why you’re here _now_.”

Pentecost sighs. “Regardless of what you think, it was not my intention for you to feel abandoned three years ago,” he says.

Raleigh doesn’t respond, letting his expression speak for him.

Pentecost is smart enough to change the subject.

“And whether you believe me or not, I truly do care about how you are doing now,” he says. “If you won’t accept that, will you at least accept my gratitude for the work you have done over the last few years and your actions in saving Ranger Hansen?”

“I was just doing my job,” Raleigh says reflexively. “Trying to help. I didn’t do it for you.”

“Trying to help,” Pentecost says, considering. “That seems to be a theme with you.”

Raleigh thinks maybe he should be insulted but the Marshall had sounded almost… fond.

“Is… that all you came to say?” he asks, pushing Pentecost’s strange behaviour from his mind.

“I came to thank you,” Pentecost says. “The FBI has allowed me to read some of their reports on this operation. You’ve done a great deal to safeguard my people and all of humanity.”

Raleigh ducks his head and curses himself for letting the Marshall’s praise mean so much to him.

“I thought about asking you to come back to the PPDC,” Pentecost continues.

Raleigh’s head snaps up and he stares at Pentecost incredulously. Pentecost easily reads his expression and smiles a little. Raleigh has never seen Pentecost smile. It’s a little terrifying.

“Yes, I thought that would be your reaction,” he says. “Still, there is a place for you, if you ever want it back.”

“I won’t,” Raleigh says definitively.

Pentecost acknowledges his certainty with a small nod.

“Nevertheless,” he says. Then, he pauses. He seems to want to say _something_ but hesitates.

Raleigh, who’s never seen the Marshall as anything but absolutely certain and absolutely fearless, is irresistibly curious.

“I never wanted to abandon you,” Pentecost says finally. “After Knifehead and your brother’s death. What happened to you… that wasn’t my intention.”

Raleigh is suddenly furious. He _does not_ want to talk about this. Pentecost’s raised hand stops Raleigh’s angry retort before it leaves his lips.

“Please,” Pentecost says, “let me speak.”

Raleigh’s mouth snaps shut and he’s shocked into silence.

He has _never_ heard Marshall Stacker Pentecost use the word ‘please.’

This is a day of firsts.

He nods cautiously and the Marshall continues.

“You disobeyed orders. You got your Jaeger destroyed. Your co-pilot died,” Pentecost says. Raleigh grits his teeth and contemplates punching Pentecost in the face. He doesn’t need or want to hear this crap again.

“But,” Pentecost says, “you won. You saved that fishing boat. You killed the Kaiju. You got your Jaeger back to shore. You _survived_.”

He sighs.

“What I wanted to get you the best medical care in the world, give you time to recover, bring you back into the program and see if you could pilot again. Obviously, that is not what happened.”

Raleigh gapes at him. He wants to scoff, to disbelieve, to call the Marshall a liar. Raleigh remembers waking alone in the Anchorage hospital, far away from the PPDC’s state-of-the-art medical facilities. He remembers the long months of his recovery and the near-complete lack of visitors. He remembers the horrible day when, only a few days after he’d woken, still drowning in grief over Yancy, then some PPDC peon had shown up in his hospital room to personally give him the boot, telling him he’d been dismissed for disobeying direct orders and dereliction of duty. That the PPDC held him responsible for the destruction of Gipsy Danger and for Yancy’s death. He remembers his stunned and pained disbelief when he’d seen his fate publically broadcast in an official statement from the PPDC. He remembers what it felt like to be stabbed in the back by his family.

But Pentecost seems so very sincere.

“If that’s what you wanted to happen,” Raleigh says, surprised by how choked up he sounds, “then why the hell did you aba… why was I left… why was I dismissed and treated the way I was?”

Pentecost sighs. “I was overruled. By the United Nations Pan-Pacific Breach Working Group. They acted despite my protests and before I could put anything in place to stop them.” He rubs a hand over his face, suddenly looking very tired. “They were frightened. The fight with Knifehead was our first failure. The first time a Jaeger had fallen in combat. They would rather have believed that it was the fault of the pilots than consider the possibility that the Kaiju were getting more dangerous.” He meets Raleigh’s angry gaze unflinching. “I offer no excuses for their actions,” he says. “Only explanations.”

“And what about for your own actions? Or, your _failure_ to act?” Raleigh demands.

“What was done, was done,” Pentecost says. “I couldn’t change it. The Kaiju were becoming more dangerous. I had to look to the future and the safety of my pilots.”

 _All your pilots but the one you’d already fucked over_ , Raleigh thinks, but he doesn’t say it.

Still, he can see how Pentecost could make that choice. The coldness that allowed him to run a program of metal monsters hundreds of feet tall in combat against giant monsters from another dimension must have served him well that day.

Raleigh nods slowly at Pentecost.

“I understand,” he says.

He’s willing to accept the Marshall’s explanation.

That doesn’t mean he’s going to forgive. Or forget.

Pentecost nods. His face is blank, so Raleigh can’t tell whether he heard the unspoken in Raleigh’s acknowledgement, but Raleigh suspects the other man is well aware of wasn’t said.

“So where do we go from here?” Raleigh asks.

“Forwards,” Pentecost says and Raleigh snorts.

“You’re a hero, Mr. Becket. I doubt you’ll be able to do much hiding and it won’t be possible for you to go back undercover.”

Raleigh nods, knowing that it’s true. His face has been splashed around the world in the last few days, with media outlets everywhere trumpeting his story. Getting another undercover gig would be impossible. And Raleigh doesn’t want one anyway.

“I did what I set out to do,” he says.

Pentecost nods “When you’re ready,” he says, “I’d like you to come back to the program. Not for good,” he adds, seeing the expression on Raleigh’s face, “just to speak to my pilots and the trainees. I think it would do them some good.”

Raleigh twists his mouth, undecided.

“Think about it,” Pentecost says. “I know the Hansens, at least, would like to see you again.”

Raleigh smiles at that.

Chuck Hansen had been rather vehement in his assertion that he expected to see Raleigh again and his promise to hound the entire story of Raleigh’s last few years out of the older pilot. Raleigh can’t say he minds all that much. Chuck energy helps fight back the ever-present weariness Raleigh has felt since Yancy’s death.

”I’ll think about it,” he tells Pentecost.

“That’s all I ask.”

There’s nothing more to say, but Pentecost doesn’t leave, and Raleigh feels surprisingly okay with his presence. He settles back against the pillows and turns to watch the San Francisco skyline out of the large hospital room window.


	5. After Action Intelligence Report

####  **Federal Bureau of Investigation: After Action Intelligence Report ******

 

**SUBJECT:** Intelligence gathered post Operation Takedown

**DATE:** November 13, 2022

 

Following the successful completion of Operation Takedown, monitoring of the surviving members of the Songs of Blue has revealed confusion, disorganization, and lack of leadership. The cults leadership is fractured, having been killed or arrested during the operation to recover Ranger Chuck Hansen. We have already seen evidence that the general membership of the cult is fracturing into many splinter groups. Analysts predict that the splintering and lack of clear leaders will decrease the cult's ability to plan an enact terrorist activity. With the death of charismatic leader Taylor Mills (AKA The Shepherd), the organization appears to have lost its previous drive and vision.

Surviving members of the cult's leadership are being kept in isolation pending the completion of their trials and are closely monitored, bu have so far shown no signs of attempting to take over the fractured remains of the Songs of Blue.

Continued concern remains regarding escaped cultists and member of the Shepherd's inner circle Carl Thomas. The Behavioural Analysis Unit has profiled Thomas as fanatical, sadistic, and unlikely to be content in hiding. Thomas is considered armed and extremely dangerous. A nationwide manhunt is underway for his capture.

Analysts believe Thomas may be behind the defacing of long-standing Kaiju propaganda. The following image of the Kaiju propaganda mural at Becktal Park in Seattle  (painted May 2021) received a textual addition suspected to be Thomas's work:

_Art by scarimonious_

 

In large, plain text next to the mural, the following text has been added:

 

> RALEIGH BECKET.
> 
>  
> 
> BLASPHEMER.
> 
> MURDERER.
> 
> TRAITOR.
> 
>  
> 
> WE HAVE SEEN YOU.
> 
> WE HAVE JUDGED YOU.
> 
>  
> 
> YOU WILL DIE FOR YOUR SINS.
> 
>  
> 
> FOR THE SONGS OF BLUE.

 

No group has claimed responsibility for the message, but surveillance footage shows a man matching Thomas' description in the area. Profilers suggest that this may be Thomas' way of giving notice before an attack. Agent Becket's protective detail has been enhanced while the threat in investigated.

There are currently no leads into Thomas's whereabouts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. This story was a labour of love, but I'm excited to finally be able to share it with everyone.
> 
> Many thanks to scarimonious who created the fabulous art for this work. I'm super excited that we got the chance to work together.


End file.
